


white dwarfs and supernovas

by TheSSClexa



Series: Stellar Collision [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Breaking Up & Making Up, Clexa, College AU, Emotions, Endgame Clarke Griffin/Lexa, F/F, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Modern AU, Smut, Soccer AU, Soulmates Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Time Jump, costia flashback, i'm rly not sure, if you can even call it that, light lostia, mentions of Ranya, mentions of lostia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22065784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSSClexa/pseuds/TheSSClexa
Summary: Part II of Stellar Collision
Relationships: Anya/Raven Reyes, Clarke Griffin & Lexa, Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Series: Stellar Collision [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1087674
Comments: 186
Kudos: 745





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year to all. I want to thank each and every one of you for your patience. This hiatus was definitely unplanned, but life happens and this year I transferred to a new job, moved halfway across the country, along with dealing with some personal stuff that accompanies everyday life. 
> 
> Please enjoy this sequel. Reading Part I is not necessary, all details will be included so this fic can read as a stand-alone. Note that there is a twist at the end of this chapter that will be accompanied by a time jump. Wishing everyone the best in 2020!

Today’s the day. New Year’s Day and Lexa’s bare skin is pressed warm against hers, stomach to stomach, chest to chest, and legs intertwined. Clarke’s eyes are closed, and she catches a wisp of Lexa’s sleepy morning smell, further burrowing into the crook of Lexa’s neck. A few strands of Lexa’s hair tickle against her nose. Without thinking, Clarke brushes them aside with the tip of her nose and plants a soft kiss there. For months she’s been wanting to do that; and now she can, smiling and nuzzling further. She plants another kiss, and another, until Lexa rouses underneath her.

“Mmm…” Lexa hums and runs her hand up into Clarke’s hair, massaging lightly at the scalp. “Morning, Clarke.”

Clarke’s smile grows and she makes her way to Lexa’s little ear, whispering, “Good morning, Lexa.”

Lexa rubs her eyes. “What time is it?”

Clarke shrugs, “Dunno,” and throws a leg high across Lexa’s waist, “don’t care,” and _grinds._

“Mmph,” Lexa groans. “Fuck—that’s hot.”

Clarke grins and rolls her weight on top of Lexa, effectively straddling Lexa’s hips. She leans up and lets the sheets fall from her shoulders, further positioning her grind into Lexa’s core.

“Fuck—that’s even hotter,” Lexa mumbles as her eyes rove Clarke’s naked body above her.

Growing up, Clarke had commonly been self-conscious about her boobs. They were always noticeably larger than most and in middle school, she used to try and hide them with oversized shirts and sweaters, plus doubling down on the sports bras. Now, not so much, but she still wears two sports bras while playing soccer because of the annoying amount of bouncing. Except right now, with the way Lexa is looking at her, the childhood unease falls away like water off a loon. She is so _comfortable_ around Lexa, the familiarity and belonging. Partial credit goes to the time spent as best friends for months, but there’s something else. Lexa looks at her with a certain adoration and Clarke is melting like a snow cone on a hot summer’s day.

Lexa’s palms her hips, guiding Clarke’s movements into a rhythm together and Clarke can feel herself beginning to pool deep within.

_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK_

“Hey, fuckers!” Raven barges fully in without restraint. “Stop fucking and get packing! We’re supposed to be out of here by noon and it’s now one.”

“Aw, fuck, Raven!” Clarke immediately pulls the sheets over herself and leans down into Lexa. “Seriously?! A little consideration, maybe?”

Raven rolls her eyes. “Oh please, Clarke. I’ve seen your tits since the 6th grade and consideration _was_ giving you two until one P.M. I was ready to kick down this door at noon. Instead, you’re lucky Anya convinced me otherwise to leave you two alone while we did all the cleaning and took out the trash.”

Clarke huffed, she _did_ feel bad about not helping to clean and vaguely remember the mess of the living spaces when she and Lexa made their way up the stairs. “Okay, fine. We’ll be right down.”

“Oh, and here,” Raven grabs a wad of clothes and throws them onto the bed. “Picked up the trail of clothes you two left up the stairs.”

“Thanks…” Clarke pokes her eyes through a small hole in the sheets like an adolescent tent fort.

The moment Raven closes the door, Clarke expects Lexa to roll her off and start packing. They do have a bit of a drive ahead of them. But instead, Lexa wraps her arms around Clarke and buries her face into Clarke’s chest, planting kisses with no intention of leaving.

“Mm… Lexa… ”

Lexa hums acknowledgment but doesn’t stop what she’s doing and continues to trail kisses until she teases the tip of her tongue over one of Clarke’s nipples.

Clarke’s eyes start to roll back, “Lex, we have to— mmph, we have to start packing.” And Clarke reluctantly pulls away.

Lexa’s demeanor slumps. She says nothing yet continues to _stare_ at Clarke with a puppy-eyed look Clarke almost can’t deny.

“Lexa—stop.”

“Stop what?” Lexa smiles.

“Stop… looking at me like that.”

Lexa’s smile widens. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” she says in a love-drunk manner and Clarke can’t help the small blush that fills her cheeks because she feels the same way.

Smiling, Clarke leans down and presses a morning kiss onto Lexa’s lips. Lexa’s hands find their way to Clarke’s ass, cupping and caressing until they’re back to where they started. The slow grind. Their bare bodies slide together, soft and warm and cozy.

_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK._

It’s Anya this time. “Lex, get the fuck up! We’re supposed to be checked out of here by noon and Raven is two seconds away from physically dragging you two out of bed. I had to convince her, nicely, to not throw your clothes outside in the snow.”

In the end, it takes both Raven and Anya’s combined efforts to separate Clexa to a minimum function: put on clothes, pack other clothes, and take the suitcases to the car. Everyone says their goodbyes until next year, each pairing off and heading in their respective directions. Raven and Anya, Jasper and Maya, Monty and Harper, Octavia and Lincoln, and Bellamy and Echo.

Clarke and Lexa are the last to leave, but as soon as Clarke closes the passenger side door, she breaches the centerline and straddles Lexa’s lap. It’s been an hour, at the most, since they got out our bed and already, Clarke wants Lexa’s lips on hers. Lexa puts up no resistance, welcoming Clarke’s tongue and mouth. It appears they were both awaiting their friends’ departure, eager for time alone together.

Lexa’s kisses are smooth, long and thorough. And it’s hard for Clarke to not smile and nick her teeth against Lexa’s. There’s a special feeling that comes with kissing your best friend, _being_ with your best friend. Spared are the conversations about pet-peeves, likes, and dislikes. Lexa knows them; Lexa _knows_ her. The transparency and shamelessness when Clarke tells Lexa all she wants to do is eat pizza and binge watch Disney plus tonight, and knowing that that’s what Lexa wants too. Well, _if_ they make it to that point tonight, because right now with the way Lexa is touching—groping—her, they may never leave the car. Warm hands have slipped under Clarke’s shirt and Lexa is feeling her up atop her bra. And just as Lexa slides her hands back to unclasp it, three knocks on the window startle Clarke and she swears she’s going to murder Raven. Except, it’s not Raven.

“Ahh!” Clarke screams at the stranger. Too dumbfounded to move, she buries her face into Lexa’s neck. Hiding poorly like an ostrich with its head in the sand.

“Excuse me! Ahem… you two… young ladies?”

Thankfully, Lexa has some composure left and rolls down the window. “Hi, um, yes? How can I help you, ma’am?”

“Are you all checked out?”

“Mm-hm,” Lexa nods.

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure. I’m the cleaning lady, but management also has me check if everyone’s out or not.”

“Everyone’s out of the house,” Lexa replies with reassurance.

“Thank you.”

Clarke hears the window roll up and mumbles into Lexa’s shoulder. “Is it safe now?”

“Well, I think it’s safe to say it’s probably time to go…”

Clarke looks up from the crook of Lexa’s neck to see a white minivan with the logo “Lake Shore Cleaning Services” and two other cleaners exiting the vehicle. The side door is open with cleaning equipment in full view with brooms, vacuums, and carpet steamers the crew will be loading and unloading. Clarke sighs, disappointed in their lost privacy and she shimmies off Lexa, returning to the passenger side. “Okay… maybe we should go.”

“You know, the faster we get back, the faster we’ll…” Lexa pauses to eye Clarke up and down, “… be alone again.” And without pause, she shifts the car into reverse and the tires roll down the rocky gravel, popping and cracking until they reach the main road.

“Right,” Clarke responds with a curt nod and she sits back in her seat, buckling her seat belt.

It’s not long after they set off on the main road when Clarke’s hand makes its way across the shifter, slowly slipping it into Lexa’s hand. And, Lexa does this… thing—she runs the pad of her thumb in little patterns—and it brings Clarke to her absolute mercy. Despite the juvenile gesture, Clarke’s heart is swelling, about to burst. She’s awestruck; Lexa is her _girlfriend._ Also, Clarke doesn’t know when Lexa started to look so fucking sexy. Lexa is wearing the same thing she always wears: a basic tee, her go-to university hoodie, and jeans. Aside from having her hair down, dark waves cascading across her shoulder, Lexa looks no different that she does every day Clarke has seen her. Clarke can’t help but continuously look to her left, ogling Lexa in all kinds of ways.

“Clarke, stop… looking at me, like that.”

“Why?”

“It’s—” Lexa’s hand tightens around Clarke’s as if she’s struggling to maintain composure, “—very distracting.”

“Oh,” Clarke looks away for a split second, staring forward at the boring, boring road. Lexa is significantly better to look at and her eyeballs peer left as far into her peripheral as practicable.

“Clarke.”

“What? I didn’t even move my head that time.”

“Yeah, but I can still _feel_ you staring.”

“Well, excuse me for wanting to look at my hot girlfriend.”

Lexa does a partial eye roll, half flattered, half annoyed.

“And how do you think it makes me feel to concentrate on the road and not be able to look at _my_ hot girlfriend.”

Clarke smirks, she certainly likes the sound of that. “So… then maybe you should pull over and we can look at each other for a while.”

“Clarke, if I’m going to pull over, I’ll be doing a hell of a lot more than just looking.”

Clarke likes the sound of that even more. “Mm, Lex,” Clarke says, releasing hands and daringly places it high on Lexa’s thigh, “don’t tease me.”

Lexa takes her eyes off the road and gives Clarke a deadening stare. It’s dark and wanting, and for a second, Clarke regrets what she’s done. The pit of her stomach knots and sinks. Lexa looks like she might eat Clarke alive.

The car swerves onto the empty shoulder, clearly marked for emergency vehicles, and Lexa places the car in park, paying the signs no heed. She pops her seat belt off and it’s a mirror image of earlier today; Lexa breaches the centerline and straddles Clarke.

The kisses are long and hungry. Clarke’s unsure if she’ll ever get enough. She threads her fingers deep into Lexa’s hair, it’s soft and flowy and smells _so_ good. The mix of shampoo and Lexa herself.

“Mmm…” Clarke moans into Lexa’s mouth. And at this moment, Clarke experiences the impossible; Lexa fumbles for the lever that lowers the seat back. She hasn’t known Lexa to falter in anything. Always precision. Clear intent with pinpoint accuracy. From the way she studies and takes tests to the way she analyzes and executes plays in soccer. But not now, and this apparent effect garners a distinct sense of pride within Clarke.

“Here, let me help you,” Clarke murmurs and reaches for the lever herself. The seat clicks and they’re instantly horizontal. “Better?”

Lexa nods with her lips marking kisses down Clarke’s neck. God it’s good. Clarke reaches under the hem of Lexa’s shirt, seeking more contact and palms the warmth of Lexa’s skin. As the kissing intensifies, Clarke’s hands roam higher, hiking Lexa’s clothes up, exposing her midriff. Just before Clarke is about to pull Lexa’s top completed overhead, two sharp knocks at the glass windows startle them both.

_CLINK CLINK_

The sharp sound is caused by the butt end of a flashlight and when Clarke peers across, the blue uniform on the other side of the glass has her in a startled panic. “Oh, fuck!” Automatically, she pulls Lexa down by the front of her hoodie and buries her face into Lexa’s chest.

“Clarke…” Lexa struggles to look up, “what are you doing, let go so I can at least roll the window down.”

“Oh.” Clarke releases Lexa’s sweater and she rolls off, returning to the driver’s side.

Cooly, Lexa presses the button and rolls down the window. “Hi, officer, how can I help you, ma’am?”

That’s twice today Lexa has said “ma’am” and it makes her sound weirdly southern, or at least from a different part of the country. Clarke briefly recalls Lexa talking about her time on the East Coast and entertains the idea of a road trip across the country with Lexa. It’s silly considering they’ve been on the road for less than an hour and can’t keep their hands off each other. But the famous Route 66 sign pops into mind and how fun it would be to stop at stupid tourist traps like the World’s Largest Ball of Twine.

“License, please,” the female officer says. The strict voice pulls Clarke out of her daydream and she remains seated, stupefied, while Lexa functions as a normal human being, retrieving her wallet as requested.

Clarke doesn’t know what they’ll get in trouble for but being confronted by a cop altogether is a bit nerve-wracking and her palms sweat regardless. The officer herself is iconic with hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, mirrored aviator sunglasses, and a stern demeanor. Clarke half wonders if she’s gay—it’s difficult to tell in uniform—and will give them a pass.

The officer dips her sunglasses, checking Lexa’s license and returns it. She then peers at Clarke across the console, “And may I see yours?”

Clarke is puzzled. “Why? I’m not driving.”

Lexa lightly smacks Clarke’s thigh with the back of her hand. “ _Clarke_. Who cares, just give her your license.”

Now it’s Clarke turn to fumble as she digs in all her pockets, coming out empty-handed. She then rolls to reach for her book bag in the back seat, it exposes her own midriff and can feel Lexa politely reaching to hold her shirt down for her. It’s embarrassing. Shakily, she unzips a mess of pens, pencils, a notepad, chapstick, and charge cords that spill across the back seat and onto the floor. “Fuck…” Clarke mutters until she finds her wallet. “Got it.” She twists back into place and hands it to the officer, whom, if it weren’t for her sunglasses, might seem amused.

Checking and satisfied with Clarke’s license, she returns it to Clarke. “You two ladies take care, there’s currently an alert out for a missing teenage girl and I needed to double-check. And, may I suggested that next time, at a minimum, that you exit off the highway. This lane is for emergency vehicles only and you’d be impeding their way in an actual emergency.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lexa nods.

“Mm-hm, yep,” Clarke adds. “Thank you.”

There’s a short bout of silence as they process what just happened. They were caught making out on the side of the highway by a cop. Seconds later, they both erupt in laughter.

“Oh god,” Clarke chuckles, “for a second there I thought she was going to ticket us.”

“For what? Kissing?”

Clarke laughs, “I dunno, feeling you up?”

Lexa laughs along with her until the humor dies and they’re left staring into each other’s eyes.

“We um… we should probably get going,” Lexa says, peeling her eyes away from Clarke.

“Right…” Clarke replies with a nod and turns her attention forward.

The remainder of the ride home is torturous. Clarke just wants to throw herself at Lexa, reimaging the things they did the night before and picturing what they’ll do tonight, alone in the privacy of their dorm. And Lexa is right there with her, driving over the speed limit and drumming her fingers to maintain focus.

As soon as they’re parked, Lexa doesn’t even bother with the luggage, saying “We can get it later,” and they practically sprint inside. Hand-in-hand while sneaking kisses along the way—in the lobby, up the stairs, and down the hallway—until they make it to their room.

It’s peculiar how everything in their room is the same. No objects have moved, hampers of dirty laundry still in the corner and sheets unmade, yet everything has changed. Lexa locks onto Clarke’s lips as soon as they enter, urging her backward until she falls onto the bed. Clothes are quick to come off, tossed left and right as if they can’t get to each other quick enough when finally, Lexa’s bare skin is on hers. It’s smooth and supple, gliding against Clarke’s. Lexa relinks their hands, pressing Clarke’s arms overhead and wiggles a knee between Clarke’s legs, adding more pressure.

“Mm, fuck, Lex.”

Clarke spreads her legs wider, hooking a heal at Lexa’s waist to draw more contact. She raises her hips and starts to grind. It’s slow at first, soft movements that progress, faster and faster until Clarke is smearing a wet mess along Lexa’s thigh. Clarke wants to come; her body aches for release. Lexa is building and building her. A mouth finds a nipple and fingertips find another before Lexa’s hand disappears down and plays at the slick between them.

“Fuck, Clarke, you’re so wet.”

Lexa dips and teases, rolling wet circles that has Clarke on absolute edge. Her legs quiver and Clarke’s nails dig into Lexa back. A few more passes and Clarke’s sure to come like this, except Lexa slows to almost a stop and angles her fingers to slide deep into Clarke.

Clarke moans and arches her back toward the source of her pleasure. Lexa pumping, in and out of her while palming the perfect pressure against her clit. Over and over, again and again, rocking Clarke into oblivion.

“Fuck, Lexa—I’m coming!” Clarke screams, her body unravels like a spring popping after being wound too tight. Lexa rides it all the way through, matches each pulse and every wave until Clarke slumps in satisfaction.

“God, you’re good,” Clarke mutters. She can feel the smile of Lexa’s lips against hers. Can picture the smug look on Lexa’s pretty face. And what Clarke loves most about it, that it’s _hers_. Lexa is hers; they’re together.

“Happy New Year, Clarke,” Lexa says and presses a kiss at her temple. “I love you.”

///

_Clarke hits the “delete” button on her Facebook account. She’s sick of receiving the annual fucking reminders. Especially on New Year’s. She’s also tired of seeing all her friends getting married and sprouting babies like there’s no tomorrow. Plus, it’s not like she_ actually _uses Facebook to keep in touch with anyone—just stalk them and the lives they post. Anyone important, i.e. Raven or family, has her number and already texts her near-daily. There is no reason to keep her account but bury herself in self-pity._

_The pictures will be the hardest to lose, but then again, Clarke figures she’s already lost what was most important to her. Pictures only serve as a cruel reminder of what was._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope everyone is doing well and staying safe out there. Please enjoy this next chapter. FYI, it's a bit angsty in an italicized flashback, but shifts back into present-day shortly after.

It’s been six years. _Six._ They’ve officially been apart longer than they were together, and Clarke readjusts her bridesmaid’s dress. Looking in the mirror, Clarke didn’t want to be here—she still doesn’t want to be here.

The invitation came six months ago, not long after deleting her Facebook account, and it wasn’t until a month later when Raven left the hundredth message that Clarke answered—she couldn’t ignore her best friend anymore, plus, it was the right thing to do.

“Hey, Rae.”

“Fucking, finally! I thought something had happened to you – pictured you in some dark alley in the streets of New York.”

“No… I’m here,” Clarke muttered. “I know you’re calling about the wedding.”

“Of course I fucking am, are you coming or not?”

Clarke paused, swirling the wine in her glass before gulping the remainder down in a single raise. She’s going to regret this.

“Yeah, Rae… I’ll be there.”

Raven’s voice trailed off into the background, “She said she’s coming, Ahn! Like, I said she would! Add one to everything!” A shuffle and Raven was back on the phone. “Thanks for picking up, I know it’s hard, but Ahn and I really appreciate it.”

“Yep.” Clarke hung up and instead of pouring herself another glass, took a swig direct from the bottle.

Raven and Anya have been married for the past three years. After a routine weeklong trip to Lake Tahoe, Raven and Anya ventured a weekend into “The Biggest Little City in World,” i.e. Reno, Nevada. Big tech companies were moving in for cheaper taxes and Raven considered working for Tesla, who had recently established a giant battery factory in the greater Reno area.

The heart of downtown Reno bore considerable resemblance to Las Vegas: casinos, strip clubs, and wedding chapels. No one knows how it really went down—a decision assisted by alcohol or a romantic paper signing—but they left the Big Little City with a marriage license. Raven and Anya broke the news slowly, first to family, then friends until everyone knew. Their original plan was to have a “big” wedding a year later at _Arkadia’s Vineyard_ , located in lush North California wine country. Come to find out that their dream wedding venue had a three-year-long waitlist. So, they waited.

Since then, Clarke had moved across the country hoping the distance would mitigate her feelings. It didn’t. She carried the guilt daily, an invisible backpack filled with a combination of self-blame, regret, and pity. Her chance was gone; _their_ chance was gone and it was all her fault.

It was supposed to be happily ever after when they graduated. Life seemed perfect; Lexa (of course) got into law school and simultaneously received an offer to intern at a prominent firm, and Clarke, into medical school. Except they were no longer on scholarship; gone were the glory days of soccer. During their senior year, they were both immortalized at the university’s soccer hall of fame, but soon after, real-life kicked in. Clarke moonlighted as a bartender to help with the bills and Lexa was swamped between classes and cases, taking home piles and piles of casework for almost no pay. In fact, Clarke made more money as a bartender.

Between school and work, they were both stretched thin. They would pass each other like ships in the night. Clarke would come home from a closing shift while Lexa was on her way out the door, stack casework in one hand and a list of office Starbuck’s orders in the other. They’d go days without seeing each other despite sharing the same shit apartment with leaky pipes, shoddy electricity, and asbestos-laden walls. Something had to give, and it was Clarke.

/

_Six years ago._

_“Lexa… what are we even doing?” Clarke had asked._

_Lexa looked up at her, placing an empty bowl of milk and cereal into the sink, overflowing with dishes. The dishwasher had been broken for weeks._

_“What?” Lexa put on her blazer; a great buy Lexa scored at the thrift store. There were dark circles under her eyes, circles that match Clarke’s own. Clarke knew it would be hard after graduating but didn’t think it would be_ this _hard._

_“You didn’t even kiss me goodbye, Lex.”_

_“Oh, I’m sorry.” Lexa took two steps forward and pecked her cheek. “Bye, babe, I’ll see you when I get home tonight.” And turned to the doors._

_“No—you won’t.”_

_“Hm?”_

_“I’m working late tonight. Remember? I work late on Tuesdays… and Fridays, sometimes Saturday for the extra tips. We’re two months overdue on rent—I don’t even know how they haven’t kicked us out.”_

_Lexa nodded, easy and relaxed. “Right, we talked about that. It’ll be fine, the firm promised me a bonus once this case is over.”_

_“Lexa,” Clarke shook her head. “It’s not… What are the cases going to be like when you’re a real lawyer… when I’m a real doctor?” Clarke sighed. “I don’t know if I can do this…”_

_Lexa’s brow furrowed in concern and she placed her messenger bag down. “Wait—what? What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_Clarke shrugged. “I dunno, Lex… we haven’t slept together in like… months.” Clarke aimlessly played with the cereal in her bowl, then dropped the spoon with a heavy clink. “Barely even see each other…”_

_“Clarke.” Lexa cupped her cheek. “Stop. When I get home, we’ll talk about this—” Lexa corrected herself, recalling Clarke’s schedule. “—this weekend, we’ll talk this weekend. Okay?”_

_Clarke produced a wry smile and nodded in her girlfriend’s palm._

_“Okay,” Lexa said, dropping her hand. She leaned in to give Clarke another kiss; Clarke’s lips remained unmoving when Lexa kissed her that morning. “I gotta go, I love you,” Lexa said and re-shouldered the messenger bag. She grabbed her bike helmet, hanging before the door and left. The apartment fell silent and Clarke sat in that silence, she felt lonelier than ever and began to cry._

_They never talked that weekend; Clarke never gave Lexa the chance. She spent the day packing and left for her mom’s house just to get away. Clarke found it amusing that Lexa didn’t notice she was gone-gone until two days later, an unanswered text followed by a phone call._

_“Hey Clarke, where are you?”_

_“At my mom’s.”_

_“Oh… for dinner?” Lexa shuffled the phone from one side to the other, no doubt checking her calendar. “Did I miss dinner with your mom or something?”_

_“No, Lex. There’s no dinner.”_

_“Oh. Well, when are you coming home?”_

_Home. Clarke hated that apartment. She hated being there and living there, and she couldn’t think past the feeling of emptiness it generated. It ate at her, created a hallow that was seemingly endless and she wanted out._

_“Um… I dunno,” Clarke muttered into the phone._

_“Huh? What do you mean you don’t know?” Lexa’s tone shifted from casual to concerned. “What’s wrong?”_

_Clarke sighed into the phone, upset it took two days for Lexa to realize she was serious, for Lexa to finally ask and give her the time and attention. It angered Clarke deep within, so much so she couldn’t yell at Lexa—she was beyond that—and hung up the phone. She ignored the string of texts that came next, pinging constantly, alternated by her ringtone until finally, Clarke turned off her phone._

_An hour later, Lexa was knocking at the door. With Abby working a late shift at the hospital, Clarke was home alone. The night was stormy and rain pelted the windows. It was no condition to be outside, yet Lexa continued to knock and ring the doorbell._

_As hot tears fell from her eyes, Clarke turned off the lights and lowered the blinds, appearing as if no one was home though it was obvious she was. Clarke didn’t know what she was doing as if her body had turned off all rational and defaulted to “survival” mode in an instance of self-preservation. She felt abandoned—as if Lexa had left her—and her instinctual reaction was to flee away from the source of pain._

_“Clarke!” Lexa had moved from the front door to the windows, peering inside. No longer under the cover of the porch, she was getting drenched. “Clarke, seriously? What are you doing?”_

_Lexa moved from window to window until she reached the back porch only to find the back door locked and shades drawn as well._

_“Clarke, will you let me in? This isn’t funny anymore. Well… not like it was funny in the first place, but, please, Clarke.” Lexa’s voice echoed through the door, she sounded tired, likely exhausted from work only to do the same thing the next day, and the next, and the next. It was an infinite cycle and Clarke didn’t want to be part of it anymore._

_“Look, whatever it was, I’m sorry, okay?” Lexa tried to reason with a blanket apology. “Whatever I did, or didn’t do, I’m sorry! Will, you please just let me in?”_

_Clarke had taken refuge behind the kitchen island, tucked with her knees to her chest in an unmoving ball. There was a long stretch of silence, fifteen or twenty minutes at least, and poor Lexa must have been soaked head to toe. It was raining harder and the wind whipped at the trees, blowing branches against the windows._

_“Clarke… I don’t know what this is, but I can’t keep waiting out here,” Lexa mumbled into the door. Her tone was soft, gentle and forgiving. “I’m going home, okay? And just so you know, the office is sending me to the capitol next week, to Sacramento, so I won’t be home for another week. Maybe you’ll be there when I get back…”_

_The following week, instead of going home to stay, Clarke packed up all her things in a flurry. After shutting Lexa out and ignoring her in a rainstorm, Clarke couldn’t fathom returning to “normal” life and plowed forward recklessly in a slash-and-burn mentality, thinking the faster she moved, the quicker and more painless it’d be, sparing them both._

_The decision to leave town came quickly. After spending less than a week cooped up in her old room, it became evident that she needed a clear space to think—without judgment, influence, or bias. Not only was her old room filled with Lexa-tinged memories, but her friends called nonstop to ask about what happened. When she didn’t answer, they came knocking. It was gasoline on a dumpster fire that Clarke couldn’t extinguish, suffocating in a cloud of smoke, so she kept running in an impulsive direction, wild and rash, abandoning everything._

_“Do you have a reservation?” The airport desk attendant asked._

_“No,” Clarke shook her head. “Can I just get the first flight out?”_

_“To…?”_

_“Anywhere that’s not here—somewhere far preferably.”_

_“Do you have a passport Miss? I can get you on one of our first international flights out.”_

_“Um, no, I don’t… domestic then.”_

_“Okay.” Fingers clicked on the keyboard. “There’s a direct flight out to New York leaving in fifty minutes, still one window seat available?” The attendant was especially apathetic, simply doing their job without question or judgment. It was a fresh breath of air for Clarke, exactly what she needed and further propelled her in the path she was taking: away._

_“That sounds perfect,” Clarke replied with a wry smile._

/

Clarke meant for it all to be temporary, yet somehow, managed to stretch the definition of temporary to six years. She had withdrawn from medical school, labeling it as a “year off,” which wasn’t uncommon for many med students and easier than anticipated: a simple online form. Expectedly, it enraged her mother who still nags her about it to this day.

She never returned to school but found gainful employment at a New York-based gallery. She’d always loved the arts and when she stepped foot onto the streets of the Big Apple, a HELP NEEDED sign posted at the gallery was first to draw her attention. It was a basic front desk job—answer phone calls, greet customers, rotate art. However, the gallery soon learned that Clarke was significantly more capable than her starting position and began tasking her with local events, then roadshows to estate auctions and museum dealings. The gallery grew and she grew with it. Today, she merits the title: Director of Gallery Relations and International Liaison.

Clarke had come so far from what was initially planned (such as life) and Clarke didn’t think she could look back. And she didn’t, except for one thing—one person—Lexa. Clarke will never forgive herself for how she acted, but as much as she wanted Lexa back, it was too late.

The news came six months ago when Clarke saw the notice on Facebook, a direct stab to the heart. While Lexa didn’t have a Facebook, Costia did and Clarke couldn’t help herself. Whenever Costia posted new photos, she’d scroll through and look for Lexa in the background, sometimes there’d be selfies, and rarely, a solo photo of Lexa doing ordinary tasks—reading, cooking, working out. Clarke didn’t know why she tortured herself but couldn’t look away. One day, Costia’s relationship status changed from “In a relationship” to “Engaged.” Clarke cried and the realization hit; it was time to move on.

Raven and Anya’s wedding could not have come at a worse time. Undoubtedly, Lexa was going to be there as part of Anya’s bridesmaid lineup, and it was Clarke’s unspoken friend duty to beside Raven. Clarke considered arriving completely inebriated, sparing herself of any sober interactions with Lexa. Then again, Raven would disown her if she showed up drunk and Clarke had to force herself into the right mindset: it was about Raven and Anya, it was _their_ day. Putting her own feelings aside, Clarke got on a plane and here she is now, standing next to Raven as one of her bridesmaids.

/

The day is beautiful. Warm sunlight bathes the vineyard in a picturesque glow. Vines adorn the trusses, offering a comfortable shade in the midday sun. Rolling Northern California hills serve backdrop to the swaths of flush grapevines, dotted with ripening purple fruit. Clarke is happy for her best friend. But, as beautiful as Raven and Anya look Clarke can’t focus on them, constantly looking past.

“Do you, Raven, take Anya, to be your wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, and until death do you part?”

Raven’s _I do_ is a million miles away because standing on the other side of Raven and Anya, is Lexa. She looks immaculate. Lexa is outfitted in a light green dress, a springtime apt hue that sits just off her shoulders. Her long hair cascades over in thick waves and Clarke gulps at the sight of her ex. Seeing her so close, after all these years, pangs Clarke and the shame and guilt and regret surface; Lexa has always been the one.

Clarke shakes her thoughts, admonishing herself for being so selfish and reminds herself, again, that it’s Raven’s and Anya’s day. The reminder does nothing and after a minute of concentrating on Anya’s vows, Clarke’s eyes begin to drift past, unable to focus on anything but Lexa, who has yet to spare a glance in her direction. It gives Clarke time to look at her, noting the subtle changes these six years have afforded; an added wrinkle in the corner of her eyes, a gentle wisp of grey in her hair, a few extra soft freckles dotted on her cheeks. Another jab hits Clarke, realizing that she’s looking at features she should have been there for. All this lost time and it belongs to someone else: to Costia.

The thought of Lexa’s girlfriend—fiancé—prompts Clarke to scan the audience where folding lawn chairs line the vineyard in rows of ten and Clarke’s eyes trace from the front row aft, then back again. There’s no sign of Costia. Curious. Perhaps she’ll be here later for the reception or unable to attend at all because of another obligation. If so, the latter strikes Clarke as evermore odd because she’s known Costia to be part of the “group”. Over the years, Clarke has seen Costia in pictures, gatherings and outings with the entire gang: Anya and Raven, Octavia and Lincoln, Bellamy and Echo, Jasper and Maya, Harper and Monty. At times, Clarke feels replaced by her. Although, Clarke cannot blame her friends and bears no animosity towards them. It was her decision to leave, effectively removing herself from the picture.

Pictures. The photographer is backstepping down the aisle certain not to miss a single moment: the two brides kiss, hug, then kiss again, before linking hands and run down the aisle in celebratory cheer. Now comes the moment Clarke has been dreading the most, the afternoon wedding photoshoot. Portraits are scheduled throughout the winery from the vineyard groves to the rustic barn. (Raven specifically requested a photo in her dress on a tractor.) While the designated wedding photo party is clustered in small talk at the beckoned call of the photographer, Clarke keeps her distance, standing on the opposite end of the field. Lexa, seemingly, is doing the same until the photographer waves them over.

“Can I have you two next to each other?” The photographer directs.

Clarke gulps, that would be her and Lexa. Clarke’s eyes dart up and their eyes meet for the first time in six years. Guilt washes over her and she wonders if Lexa hates her. Although, she remembers a time when Lexa hated her when they first met all those years ago on the soccer field. Except, she doesn’t see hate or anger. Clarke squints. _What is that in Lexa’s eyes?_ Anger, no. Regret, maybe. Tenderness, yes. Their moment is interrupted by the photographer. 

“Uh—can I get you two to stand closer? And turn towards each other?” They instruct.

It’s weird; Lexa is a stranger and Clarke doesn’t know how to stand next to her, afraid to brush arms. Nevertheless, Clarke angles towards Lexa and despite the cool breeze and foliage shade, Clarke is sweating as if she were in the barren desert. She wants to say hi to cut the tension but her tongue is caught and she feels like she’s choking.

“Okay, look at the camera please, and smile. Great.”

Licking her lips, Clarke clears her throat and continues to hold her smile. Finally, the photographer drops the camera and Clarke sucks in a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“Okay, now everybody in for a fun one!”

Many pair-up to hold up a leg, throw their arms around each other and Clarke is lost.

“You two, in the middle, do something—actually, why don’t you two piggyback.”

Clarke’s eyes widen and points at herself.

“Yeah, you,” the photographer says. “Hop on her shoulders.” And points at Lexa. “It’ll be really cute.”

Clarke looks at Lexa who makes the slightest head nod for Clarke to jump on her back. With another gulp, Clarke reaches for the top of Lexa’s shoulders and makes a small hop onto her ex’s back. And god, Lexa smells _good_. And worse, Lexa feels even better. Strong. Sturdy. _Familiar._

“Perfect!” yells the photographer.

Holding this position, a low churn starts to simmer in Clarke’s belly. Her breasts are pressed into Lexa’s back and Clarke worries her heartbeat is pounding a cadence through. The seconds pass painfully slow and Clarke expects Lexa to simply drop her mid-shoot. Mercifully, Lexa doesn’t but lowers her back down gently when the break from the picture.

Fittingly, a tractor-pulled hayride takes them to the reception building, a former cellar hall used to store and age wine. Open lightbulbs hang like Christmas lights, illuminating eloquent tables over a straw decorated floor. The space is beautiful, a flawless combination of new and old. Champagne and hors d’oeuvres are served as people trickle in, leaving presents on the table and signing the guest book.

Clarke immediately chugs down the first glass of alcohol that comes by. As the tables fill, Clarke is thankful to be at a different table than Lexa. Just a few more hours until she can be free of this night. Free of Lexa because she’s not looking forward to dinner, to Costia being at Lexa’s side. Clarke imagines her casually draped across Lexa’s shoulders and contemplates leaving before dinner starts, but she can’t. She promised Raven a toast and a speech, reminding herself that this is her best friend’s day. Another waiter walks by with a tray of champagne and Clarke takes two, shamelessly double fisting the in anticipation of Costia’s arrival. Oddly, as seats are taken and appetizers served, there is no Costia. Dinner. Still no Costia. Toasts, speeches, the cutting of the cake. Lexa appears to have come alone. Evidently, Clarke will survive the night, spared from eye-witnessing what she’s only observed through social media posts: the inseparable Lostia.

The dancing begins and Clarke situates herself in a distant corner, lacking the celebratory mood the others share. Another server walks past with a tray of champagne and she takes two more. Might as well. With Costia absent, Clarke questions if she should at least say hi to Lexa, unsure what’s worse: leaving without a goodbye or leaving with a superficial hello. She decides she should at least congratulate Lexa on her engagement.

Two steps into the crowd, Raven comes tumbling across her bow in a partially inebriated state. 

“Thank god, there you are,” Raven runs up and takes one of the flutes from Clarke’s hand.

“Uh, you’re welcome. How’re you doing?”

“OMG, it’s crazy. I have to pee so bad and every time I get away from someone, someone new is there. Seriously, who are all these people and where did they come from? It took me an hour to find Anya and I’ve been looking forever for you, which, where have you been? I thought you might have left without saying goodbye.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows in consideration; she was close to leaving.

“Anyways,” Raven takes a large drink from the glass as if it were water. “I _need_ to talk to you—alone.”

“Okay…?”

They scurry upstairs, which affords more privacy from the flux people. Also, the bathrooms are upstairs. They pause in the hallway just outside a row of all-gendered individual stalls.

“Okay—so, you didn’t hear this from me, but…” Raven takes another drink from her glass,“…the engagement is off.”

“What?” Clarke scrunches her eyebrows. “What are you talking about, Rae?”

“Lexa. Her engagement, with Costia, it’s off. That’s why Costia’s not here.”

“What? How did you— No.” Clarke shakes her head. “I don’t believe it.”

The bathroom door at the far end clicks open and speak of the devil, it’s Lexa. Chit-chatter from downstairs echoes up the hallways, so there stands a possibility that Lexa didn’t hear their conversation. But there’s no telling as Lexa’s eyes scan the two of them head-to-toe as she closes in.

“Raven,” Lexa greets and offers a smile. “Congratulations, again.”

“Thanks.” Raven sidesteps past Lexa (she really does need to pee) but turns and gives Clarke a suggestive waggle of the eyebrows.

Clarke makes a small grimace at Raven, a canceled engagement is _not_ good news—despite it being in her favor. Turning her attention back to Lexa, Clarke notices Lexa grind her jaw, a telltale sign that she is struggling with say something.

“Clarke.”

Her name, apparently.

“Lexa.” Clarke manages.

“And, yes…” Lexa ticks her head, ever so slightly if Clarke hadn’t spent five years with this woman, would have never noticed. “It’s true, the… engagement is off.”

Clarke wouldn’t wish this for anybody, especially Lexa. No matter how selfish her intents, no matter how opportune it makes her own situation, Clarke forces the sudden spark of hope in her chest all the way back down. For the second time today, this is _not_ the time. It’s unbelievable, how Clarke was feeling today compared to Lexa’s situation: attending her best friend’s wedding when her own has been called off.

“I’m sorry, Lexa.”

Sympathy fills Clarke’s chest and automatically, leans in for a hug. It’s basic, platonic; she is genuinely sorry for this person she once deeply cared about— _still_ cares about despite the years between them. Lexa hugs her back, snug and tight, and Clarke feels Lexa exhale a sigh of relief like Lexa’s been carrying a weight of the world.

“It’s okay,” Clarke hushes, rubbing large circles on Lexa’s back. She doesn’t know what Lexa’s been through but everything in Clarke’s gut tells her this is what Lexa needs. A friend. A confidant. “It’s okay… I’m here.”

On the other side of the door, a toilet flushes and Raven is exiting the bathroom. She and Clarke make eye contact and Raven gestures a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down, asking Clarke how it’s going. Without releasing her hold on Lexa, Clarke waves Raven to keep going, giving her head a slight shake. This is definitely _not_ the time or place to be making a move on her ex.

After what must be a full minute, Lexa begins to shift loose and Clarke knows what comes next: the confessions. It’s how Lexa is. She’ll ball everything up, hold it inside, until one day, it all comes spilling out like a failed dam.

“I couldn’t do it, Clarke. I just couldn’t.”

“I know, I know. It’s okay, Lexa.”

Clarke takes a brief peek into Lexa’s eyes and it pains her. The remorse, the regret, the angst. “It’s okay Lexa, you can talk to me.” Clarke cups Lexa’s face, “You know of all people, I won’t judge you. Hell… I’m the least of anyone deserving this right now. I’m positive you hate me…”

“I don’t hate you, Clarke.” Lexa reaches for Clarke’s hand on her cheek and she holds it, stroking a thumb over the back of Clarke’s hand. “I mean, I was upset for a long time, but it doesn’t change the way I feel about you…”

“Wait, what?”

Lexa swallows thickly, “I suppose there’s no other way to say it... it was all a lie with Costia, and I’m still in love with you.”

_Oh._

_Dear._

_Lord._

_Jesus._

_Christ._

Clarke’s mouth falls agape. Did Lexa just say what she think she said? What Clarke’s been doubting and going back on all these years, social media stalking her ex and sure that Lexa would rather her dead for leaving the way she did. No. None of the above. Lexa still loves her. It’s overwhelming. This day alone has been overwhelming and Clarke’s mind races with question after question. What does it mean? How is this going to work? Does Lexa even want this to work? Clarke lives across the country now. Maybe Lexa just needed to get it off her chest. Clarke doesn’t know. Can’t think or talk, or think _to_ talk.

But Clarke does react when Lexa leans in for a kiss. It’s her signature move, a brief nudge of the nose as if seeking permission. Back in college, Lexa would bop their noses whenever she sought a kiss, awaiting Clarke’s lips. So, without pause, Clarke closes the remainder of the gap. Their lips press together and Clarke sucks in a breath, feeling whole again. Lexa’s tongue swipes at the seam of her mouth and Clarke meets her there, slides her tongue against Lexa’s and more memories come pouring: how they used to make out for hours on the couch on movie nights; in the shower until the hot water turned cold; after sex when they’re dizzy from their orgasms. All of it.

Lexa tastes the same. Clarke turns her head, deepening the kiss and Lexa matches her movements beat-for-beat. Some people squeeze past to get to the bathroom, there might have even been a joking, “Get a room” comment somewhere, Clarke’s not sure. All senses have been drowned out by Lexa. Lexa, who backs her into one of the stalls and kicks the door closed, hoisting Clarke onto the sink. Automatically, Clarke spreads her legs, reaching to pull her dress up in a bunch to give Lexa access. The moment is heavy and rushed; they’re desperate to shove themselves back together. Clarke’s about the pull down her underwear, but she’s not fast enough because Lexa’s already brushed aside the thin material and buried two fingers in.

“Oh, fuck, Lexa!”

Clarke grips Lexa’s hair in both her hands as Lexa kisses down her neck. Lexa pumps hard and fast; it’s exactly where Clarke needs it and she won’t last long. Minutes, at the most.

“Shit… Lex… right there…”

“I know…” Lexa murmurs, briefly slowing her pace and reconnect eyes with Clarke. “I remember.” She stops altogether to plant another kiss on Clarke’s mouth before moving just behind Clarke’s jawbone. It’s a particularly sensitive spot that Lexa loved to tease, but right now, it’s what sends Clarke over the edge. At first, Lexa nibbles and sucks, but then rakes her teeth across and Clarke is spilling across Lexa’s hand.

“Clarke…”

Lexa’s not stopping, pushing past Clarke’s first orgasm and chasing a second.

“Come for me again,” Lexa coaxes, pressing the heel of her palm against Clarke’s clit and it trips her into a second orgasm.

“Oh god, fuck, Lexa, _fuck_!”

Clarke hasn’t come twice in a row like this for years (since they were together) and she stifles a scream in Lexa’s shoulder. Lexa rides out her convulses and Clarke tips her head back, moaning as she downshifts from what just happened. She swears she might stab herself if she’s dreaming because god knows she’s had some lucid, sexual dreams involving Lexa over the years. But no, it’s not a dream. Kisses make their way back up Clarke’s neck and Lexa recaptures her lips. It’s slow and sensual, the way Clarke likes it, indulging as if they have all the time in the world—just like they used to.

“Mmmm…” Clarke lets out a soft and lazy moan.

“Um,” Lexa pauses their kissing. “Hotel?”

“Fuck yes.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few items I wanted to mention, this chapter starts in Clarke's POV and switches to Lexa's about halfway through. While in Lexa's POV, there's a brief Costia flashback, see updated tags. Lots of feels in this, it was definitely not easy to write, but I hope it came together by the end of the chapter. 
> 
> Aside from the update, I hope everyone is staying safe out there!

“I’m coming, Lexa!”

Clarke grips Lexa’s hair, trembling as she spills into Lexa’s mouth. She’s lost count how many times she’s come. They’ve been at it for _hours_ , both soaked in sweat and gasping for air. Lexa crawls up her body and collapses, nuzzling her face in the crook of Clarke’s neck. Clarke idly runs her hand through Lexa’s hair and kisses the top of her head.

Glancing at the clock, it’s nearly 4 A.M. and Clarke closes her eyes. She’s exhausted, but for the first time in a long time, she feels whole again. Lexa is _here_ and Clarke thanks every deity, past, present, and future, for this second chance. Clarke studies Lexa, sleeping in her arms, and she doesn’t think that she ever stopped loving Lexa either.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke whispers into Lexa’s sleeping ears.

They’ll talk tomorrow.

/

A ray of sunshine beams directly in Clarke’s eyes. She wakes up blinded, bringing up a hand to shield her face, and orients herself. The wedding. The hotel. Last night with Lexa.

Clarke twists, she sits up and reaches across the sheets. They’re cold and empty.

“Lexa?”

There is no way last night was a dream and she rolls out of bed to check the bathroom.

“Lexa?”

It’s empty. Clarke sees herself in the mirror and the evidence is written across her body, love bites around her neck and breasts, and light scratches across her back.

Clarke mutters to herself, confused over Lexa’s whereabouts. They were supposed to _talk_ , figure things out and Lexa has disappeared. Clarke returns to the bedroom, searching for a note or something to trace her. Maybe Lexa left for breakfast and is on her way back? Lexa was always a hopeless romantic and Clarke remembers lazy Sunday mornings when Lexa would bring her breakfast in bed. Looking around the room, there’s no note, no residual articles of clothing, nothing.

Quickly dressing, Clarke leaves the room and heads directly for the penthouse suite.

_Knock-knock-knock._

“Rae?”

Clarke can hear shuffling noises from behind the door.

“Clarke?” Raven opens the door. She’s in a hotel robe and her hair is tousled.

“Hi, morning Rae.”

“What…?”

“Do you by chance know what room Lexa’s in?”

“Huh? Didn’t… you two leave… together?”

“We did… but she’s um, gone,” Clarke embarrassingly admits.

“She had an early flight this morning!” Anya yells and appears from around the corner. She’s tying a matching robe and her hair is in equal disarray. “Why, didn’t she tell you?”

“No...”

Suddenly Clarke feels very, very stupid. Her face and eyes flush with warmth, the uncomfortable kind, and the realization sets.

It was a one-night stand.

“Oh, honey…” Raven makes a sympathetic face and pulls Clarke in for a hug. “I’m sorry.”

“But… I don’ t understand.” Clarke’s eyes flit left and right, trying to make sense of it all. “Last night… it was… it was… we were together.”

This can’t be. Lexa literally slipped through her arms. Clarke had so much to say, a monologue of apologies, and her chance was now gone. _No._ Clarke shakes her head. She’s not going to let Lexa go—she doesn’t want to—and after last night, she’s willing to go to the end of the earth for Lexa.

“Anya, can I have her number? And address too?”

“What? You’ve got to be kidding me?”

“I’m serious. I _have to_ go to her.”

Anya looks at her in a death stare. Anya has never been a fan of Clarke’s, especially after what Clarke did to Lexa, and Clarke is prepared to get punched.

“Please, Anya.” Clarke bites her lip. “She means everything to me.”

“Does she, really?” Anya’s eyes stab. “You’re unbelievable.”

Anya is about to walk away, but Raven steps in. “Ahn, just give it to her.”

“It’s not my place, babe. If Lexa wanted to talk to Clarke again, she would have made sure of that.” Anya shakes her head. “Not like this.”

Raven squeezes Anya’s hand. “Then do it for me? Blame it on me. Because Clarke’s still _my_ best friend. Everyone’s human, everyone makes mistakes, and everyone deserves second chances, right?”

Clarke swallows a knot, watching her best friend go to bat for her. Somehow, what Raven says resonates with Anya and despite sparing another glare in Clarke’s direction, Anya retrieves her phone and gives Clarke the information she asks.

Checking out of the hotel, Clarke calls the airline while on the way to the airport. She ignores the massive fees associated with the last-minute reservation change, managing to snag the last middle seat to Los Angeles and reschedules her original flight home to New York on a redeye. The flight leaves at midnight, and accounting for the time change, gets her back just in time for work. Monday morning will not be kind.

But that’s tomorrow and today is today. She’ll at least have a few hours with Lexa. Precious hours that mean everything to her. Finally, after checking-in to her new flight and through security, Clarke arrives at her gate with fifteen minutes to spare. Sitting, she takes a moment to gather herself. She wipes the dew of sweat on her forehead, takes a sip of water, and plugs in her dying phone. 

Then, she starts to text Lexa when the text grows long. Very long. It might as well be an email and Clarke second-guesses herself. She deletes it entirely and begins again, starting and stopping this difficult process until she must board the plane. Still, the text doesn’t sit right. Its delivery is weak for the weight of what she has to say, and for what she’s about to do. Instead, Clarke takes a big breath of courage and calls Lexa.

It rings. And rings. And rings.

_Hi, you’ve reached Lexa Woods, attorney-at-law. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you._

Clarke redials again and again, through the boarding process until the attendant asks her to put her phone away. Finally, Clarke has no choice but to leave a message.

“Hi, Lexa. It’s um, me. Clarke. Me, Clarke. I uh—”

“Ma’am, I’m going to ask you again, can you please put your phone on airplane mode?”

“Yes, just one sec. Hi, Lexa. I tried calling, several times, you’re probably already working or something. But, I got your info from Anya through Raven, so please don’t be mad at her. I’m on—”

“Ma’am, this is the last time I’m asking, can you please place your phone on airplane mode?”

“Yeah, I know, I know, I’m just leaving a message. Please.”

The attendant is now standing—hovering—over Clarke and Clarke speeds up message.

“Just wanted to let you know I’m on my way, to you. Like, your house. Actually, I don’t know if you have a house, so your place or whatever. I—last night, it was—”

“Ma’am.” A second attendant is now coming up the aisle.

“Okay, I have to go, see you soon, bye!” Clarke ends the call and switches her phone to airplane mode with two attendants over her shoulder. She is _that_ person on the flight and she sits in a pool of shame, drawing side glances and eye rolls. Thankfully, the flight to Los Angeles is short, just shy of 1.5 hours from gate-to-gate. In contrast to the flight, LA traffic is a bitch and Clarke is in her rideshare for almost two hours. She landed at the start of traffic hour, which, in LA, apparently starts at 3 P.M. and according to the driver, runs to about 9 P.M. in addition to one closed lane for construction and two fender benders. It’s torture.

Clarke attempts several more calls but continues to get Lexa’s voicemail. By now, she’s minutes away and calling one more time is pointless. The driver drops her off in a suburb of LA. It’s a quiet street just off Santa Monica Blvd and the house is a greyish blue hue with a cottage-like appearance. The grass and surrounding foliage are well kept, and Clarke makes her way to the front door. It’s painted burnt orange and complemented by a dark wood-stained porch. The house screams Lexa, who has always had a fondness for cabins and mountains. Clarke is surprised that Lexa has settled here, in the bustling city of LA.

_Ding-dong._

A deadbolts slides and the doorknob clicks open.

“Clarke?”

“Hi.”

“What… are you doing… here?”

“Sorry, I tried calling.” Clarke flashes her phone a couple of times. “And left a message. Which, by the way, why don’t you answer your calls?”

“I screen all unknown numbers.”

“Why?”

Lexa inhales, about to answer but shifts her response, “Why… does that matter? And… how did you find me?”

“Anya, via Raven.”

“Of course.” Lexa crosses her arms. “What do you want?”

“Please don’t be mad at them. I—wanted to talk.”

“ _Talk?_ ”

“Well…” Clarke shrugs. “Yeah. Last night was… last night was—"

“—a mistake,” says Lexa.

“—amazing,” says Clarke.

They speak simultaneously and both are surprised by each other’s choice of words. As close as they were less than 24 hours ago, they are miles apart. A mountain divided.

“Oh.” Clarke swallows as the knot in her stomach twist tighter. If Lexa’s actions weren’t already indicative of her decision, hearing it direct from Lexa is a crippling blow to her heart. “So, last night meant nothing to you?”

“Clarke…” Lexa uncrosses her arms and runs a hand through her hair, a telltale sign that she’s frustrated. She doesn’t want to talk. “Clarke I—I think you should go now,” Lexa says and slowly begins to close the door, gesturing Clarke away as if she were a salesperson soliciting a product.

The doorway narrows, inch-by-inch, and Clarke knows, if she lets it shut, it’ll be the end of them.

“No.” Clarke plants her palm on the door. “I’m not going anywhere.” She pushes back and invites herself into the entryway, although Lexa doesn’t put up much resistance from the other side.

“Really, Clarke?” Lexa exhales and places her palm on her forehead. “God, I knew last night was a mistake. Look, I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t mean for this, and I’m sorry if I lead on a false expectation,” Lexa blurts.

More daggers to Clarke’s heart. “But… you said you still loved me. Why would you tell me that?”

“And I’m saying that was a mistake, now. It just came out, okay? I was… It was… Ugh, fuck, Clarke, _I_ don’t owe you any explanations.”

“Really? I don’t understand how you can tell someone you love them, sleep with them, and just disappear.”

“ _Wow.”_ Lexa’s eyes grow cold. Anger and resentment surface. “You’re such a hypocrite. Why don’t you ask yourself that, _Clarke_?” Lexa bites.

The words are a knockout punch and Clarke has no ground to make her rebuttal. Lexa is right, Clarke is a hypocrite. She was the one who walked out on them all those years ago and Clarke swallows a fat bitter pill. Her cheeks turn sour and eyes well hot, emotions tangle and it stretches her in every direction.

“Fine. If I’m a hypocrite then… then you’re a liar!” Clarke lashes in irrational defense and makes an incredibly low blow. “If you really were still in love with me this whole time then not only were you lying to yourself but Costia, too.”

Lexa’s eyes turn from stone to fire. What Clarke said bears truth, the painful kind meant to hurt. And it did.

“Get. _Out._ ”

Clarke stands her ground. She should have known last night was too easy. Naïve is an understatement but now she’s here and more willing than ever to fight for them. She meets Lexa’s gaze, throwing fire at fire. They’re both crying.

_Ding-dong._

The doorbell breaks their faceoff and Lexa wipes her eyes before she answers the door. It’s pizza and Lexa accepts the box, walking it past Clarke as if she didn’t exist and flops it on the small kitchen island.

The sudden waft of greasy cheese has Clarke’s stomach lurching, realizing she hasn’t eaten all day. No breakfast, no lunch, not even the free bag of pretzels offered during her flight. She was so focused on finding Lexa but now, her instinct for sustenance is overwhelming.

Lexa continues to ignore her, pulling out the barstool to sit and opens the pizza box. For a moment, Clarke thinks Lexa will simply ignore her through the end of the night as Clarke continues to stand in a pool of her own stubbornness. But then, Lexa pulls out a second barstool and kick-slides it in Clarke’s direction.

“Want some?” Lexa asks without looking.

Leave it to pizza to diffuse the situation. Lexa knows pizza is Clarke’s favorite, and to eat it in front of her without offering any takes a different type of cruelty Lexa doesn’t have. Plus, it’s not _just_ pizza. Pizza was their staple through college: pizza after soccer, drunk 3 A.M. pizza, cold breakfast pizza, studying pizza, Netflix pizza. It was always pizza together and their tradition is too sentimental to ignore.

Slowly, Clarke approaches the barstool and takes a seat. Lexa has already started eating out of the box and Clarke helps herself. They eat in silence, it’s an unspoken ritual when Lexa grabs a drink from the fridge and automatically sets a can of Diet Coke affront of Clarke.

“Diet Coke still okay?” Lexa asks.

Clarke nods. She doesn’t have to ask for the Ranch dressing either when Lexa places it next to the soda.

There are things in life that become like clockwork, and this is one of them. The implicit gestures between them and what existed as ordinary and routine. Sitting, here and now, Clarke misses it even more and her mind briefly fantasizes what it would have been like to live here, together with Lexa. She imagines small things like refrigerator magnets and mixed mail, big things like rugs and bedsheets. How she missed out on so much; she missed Lexa so much.

Lexa is on her second slice. “Had I known you were coming, I would have ordered extra cheese,” she says.

“You should answer your phone,” Clarke quips.

Lexa responds with a wry smirk. There’s too much history between them to maintain the high tensions, and the pizza helps a lot. Clarke realizes she was also hangry. Her emotions have calmed and her thoughts are clearer.

“Well, it’s not like I need the extra cheese anyways,” Clarke adds. She’s gained at least ten if not fifteen pounds since college. No more soccer body.

“You look great, Clarke,” Lexa says without reservation. Her eyes drop, giving Clarke a quick once over.

The fresh memories from last night run hot between them, it’s a live wire and suddenly, Clarke feels bashful. She looks at Lexa, past the hurt where a flicker of affection shines through like a buried diamond. 

Slowly, Clarke reaches her right hand across and pokes at Lexa’s index finger with her own, seeking to reconnect in the smallest of ways. It’s childish but Lexa reciprocates, inches closer like the itsy-bitsy spider school rhyme until their fingers intertwine. The used to eat like this all the time, holding non-dominant hands, and yet another path down memory lane.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says. Her apology isn’t only for the recent intrusion but begins a thread of apologies. She’ll take as long as it takes. Clarke is prepared to apologize every day for the rest of her life if it means she gets a second chance with Lexa.

“I didn’t know what I was doing, then. And there hasn’t been a day when I didn’t think about you.” Clarke squeezes Lexa’s hand. “Am I too late?”

///

_Approximately 10 hours ago._

Lexa silences her phone alarm, thankful it didn’t wake Clarke.

Quietly, she slips out of bed, leaving the warmth of Clarke’s body and pulls the covers around her shoulders. Clarke stirs, mumbling in her sleep, and Lexa takes a second to admire her. It feels wrong to leave Clarke like this—like some meaningless one nightstand. Lexa shouldn’t have done what she did but everyone is human. Everyone falls in moments of weakness and Lexa is weak for Clarke. Clarke, who glowed during that photoshoot, who looked impossibly good in that dress, who stared at her with those soft blue eyes. Eyes Lexa missed terribly. It was a failure of head over heart and Lexa leaned in. She couldn’t stop herself and the moment their lips touched, every ounce of willpower drained from her veins. It unmoored her. She fell into disaster with greedy hands and hungry kisses. She consumed Clarke, drank her fill, and then kept going.

Gently, Lexa sweeps a strand of blonde from Clarke’s face and kisses her forehead before gathering her clothes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t enough for you,” she whispers and leaves.

/

As a lawyer who works for a left-winged firm and specializes in equality cases, there’s a reason Lexa screens her calls. People who oppose the firm’s views and practices send hate mail and spam. In addition to the firm, some target their employees and finds their personal contact information. Now and then, Lexa receives a harassing phone call. She’s since learned to never answer a call from an unfamiliar number, Clarke happened to be included. Although, Lexa’s not sure she would have answered even if she knew it was Clarke calling.

When the doorbell rang, Lexa was expecting the pizza delivery person and didn’t bother to check who it was. She is further unsure if she would have opened the door for Clarke. It’s extremely difficult to say _no_ to Clarke. Not just for Lexa, but for anyone who stands in Clarke’s way. Lexa knows this about her ex. Clarke has a remarkable level of determination. It makes her stubborn and hard to argue with. Lexa knows that once Clarke has made up her mind, it’s nearly impossible to change.

Also, in Clarke’s favor, this is not a courthouse. The rules and rational don’t apply and Lexa cannot remain objective. She loves Clarke, through and through, and her emotions weigh heavily. What hurt her the most wasn’t Clarke leaving, but her perceived reason why: the fact that she wasn’t enough for Clarke. She couldn’t provide what Clarke needed and _that_ realization was devasting. It was the first time Lexa experienced failure. Unlike school or soccer, the solution wasn’t to study more or practice more. _She_ simply was inadequate, and Clarke deserved better. So, Lexa let her go.

“Am I too late?” Clarke asks.

Lexa’s thumb runs circles over the back of Clarke’s hand as she thinks, taking another bite of pizza. The cogs in her mind turn and after almost five minutes of silence, Lexa speaks.

“I wasn’t enough for you before, what’s the difference now?”

“But you were.”

“You left, clearly I wasn’t.”

“I—I was scared, Lexa.”

“Scared of what?”

“I don’t know, living like that. We were too busy for each other and I didn’t want that to be our lives… forever.”

“So… You didn’t leave because I wasn’t enough?” Lexa says slowly as she comes to terms with what Clarke is saying, and the possibility that Lexa was wrong about the _why._

“No.” Clarke rubs her forehead. “God, of course you would think that. It’s so… _you._ Lexa, you were always enough, you just weren’t ever there. I barely saw you—we barely saw each other. I _missed_ you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried. You were… too busy. And I felt so… lonely.”

Thinking back, Lexa _was_ busy. There were times when she couldn’t tell day from night, weeks and months blended together as she took on more cases, and Clarke—they—faded into the background. Lexa doesn’t know what to say; there’s no rulebook for this.

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way, Clarke.”

“I’m sorry I left.”

They’re still holding hands when Lexa gives Clarke a small tug. She pulls Clarke to stand between her legs and hugs her. Clarke hugs her back in equal tenderness, cradling Lexa’s head against her chest much like how they fell asleep last night.

They hug for a long time, until the pizza is cold and the front of Clarke’s shirt is lightly dotted with tears. Lexa doesn’t know if she can withstand losing Clarke again and it influences her decision. Then, again, what’s the alternative? Live alone for the rest of her life or try to find someone else?

After Clarke left, Lexa spent the next three years alone. She shut the world out and if she wasn’t already immersed in school and work, threw herself even deeper, taking on additional assignments while helping fellow interns with their caseloads. Of course, Lexa graduated top of her class, but once school was over and she was properly hired as a paid employee, labor laws actually applied, and Lexa’s casework was limited. Lexa was bored, and like a pendulum at the peak of its height, Lexa swung hard the other way. Despite her high achievements in the courtroom, outside, Lexa reduced herself to meaningless sex with strangers. So many unfamiliar faces with forgotten names. Months of it until Anya intervened and told Lexa she was being an irresponsible asshole. Anya was right, Lexa had turned cold and heartless, carelessly sleeping with women.

Thus, Lexa stopped and began investing her time in other ways, more meaningful ways, one of which was supporting youth sports. She would spend her free evenings and weekends coaching kids’ soccer. This was how she ran into Costia, at an alumni community sporting event. Because of their brief history, the conversation flowed. Costia was warm, familiar, and pleasant. Naturally, Lexa found herself in her first relationship since Clarke. Lexa tried with Costia, she really did. Except Costia wasn’t who she appeared to be; she had a thing for appearances.

/

_“Costia…” Lexa rubs her face and ruffles her hair. She’s upset after looking at Costia’s updated Facebook status. Costia_ always _does this. Pictures for “the gram,” updates for her thousands of followers across Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Snapchat, etc. Costia has it all and more, multiple accounts, too many for Lexa to keep track. Lexa_ hates _social media and the fact that Costia has simply made her—their—decision like this was a step too far. “Why does your Facebook status say “engaged”?”_

_Costia shrugs, “You said you needed some time to think about it, so, I gave you some time and then I decided.”_

_“Cos, that was barely a month ago. And, it’s not for_ you _to decide, to announce through_ Facebook?!”

_“Lex, we’ve been together for over two, almost three years, of course, we’re going to get married. That’s the next step.”_

_Lexa bites her lip. Costia does this all the time. She makes decisions, big decisions, without involving Lexa and leaves her to clean up the logistics afterward. A few months Costia suddenly decided she wanted a new car and traded theirs without consulting Lexa for a new luxury SUV at nearly twice the cost. And while Lexa spent the night rebalancing their finances, Costia was tied to her phone, gushing over the comments and likes. Her post made it seem like Lexa had surprised her with a new car with the hashtags, “baelovesme” and “relationshipgoals”. It didn’t help that Costia’s job was in marketing and she was an influencer for several main brands, her likes and comments brought in more income. Between that and Lexa’s job as a lawyer, they were financially comfortable. They didn’t live outside their means, though Costia was beginning to flirt with that._

_“Costia, that’s not just your decision to make,_ we _were talking about getting married.”_

_Costia waves nonchalantly—too nonchalantly for Lexa’s simmering anger. “Lexa, you take forever to make decisions. You’re too calculated, we both know that. It’s just easier if I do it for you.”_

_“No, Cos, it’s not fair.”_

_“Just like how it wasn’t fair when I bought you that Pelonton bike? You love that thing. Don’t hear you complaining when you use it every morning.”_

_Lexa would have never spent that type of money, and so quickly, on a stationary bicycle. The moment she showed interest, Costia bought it for her the very next day; it’s Costia’s love language. She loves to buy things for Lexa. It’s constant from the newest gadget to the nicest clothes. Though it’s true, Lexa uses the Pelonton daily without complaint._

_“That was a bike. This is life.”_

_Costia bats an innocent side-glance, she’s still not taking Lexa seriously._

_“And what if I did say no, Cos. That I don’t want to marry you.”_

_Costia lets out a mocking laugh, “And go back being miserable after Clarke left you?”_

_It’s hard when the person you’re with knows your history and uses it against you. When, at one point, Costia was her confidant and Lexa offloaded all her feelings only for it to be ammo against her._

_“Shut up.”_

_“It’s true. You said it yourself, Lexa. Who else are you going to be with? No one’s going to understand your past the way I do. I was there too, remember?”_

_“You were, but you weren’t.”_

_“Oh, please. Clarke treated you like shit leaving you the way she did.”_

_“Don’t talk about Clarke like that, you didn’t even know her.”_

_“If Clarke loved you so much, what’d she ever get you?”_

_“Nothing, Cos. She never bought me anything because we were students. Students on scholarship and once that ended, we were piss poor.”_

_“Still,” Costia shrugs, “I would have found a way to make you happy just like I do now, babe.”_

_“Buying me everything I want, or how you see fit, isn’t happiness Costia. Posting all our possessions over social media isn’t happiness. In fact, it’s a lie. This is a fucking lie.”_

_“You’re being serious?”_

_“Yes, I’ve been serious. I can’t do this anymore, Cos. I can’t be with you, flaunting our lives across all your accounts. It’s fake.”_

_“I’m keeping the Peloton.”_

_“Are you fucking serious? Is that all you care about?”_

_“Just saying, if we’re doing this. The car, and that Applewatch I got you for Christmas too.”_

_Lexa rips off her watch and slams it on the counter. “Take it_ all.”

_Costia looks at her, unfazed, and makes a painful jab. “So, what, you’re going to go crawling back to Clarke now?”_

_“Stop it, Costia.”_

_“She’s not going to take you back, especially after all this time. You know I’ve always been your best chance at moving forward.”_

_“I said, stop it.”_

_“You’re going to be alone for the rest of your life.”_

_“That’s fine. I’d rather be alone than with you.”_

Lexa left the following day with nothing but a small suitcase of essentials and never looked back. Lexa stayed in a hotel those first few nights, then a furnished month-to-month apartment until she decided on a place of her own _._ It wasn’t until she was house hunting when she realized how brainwashed and dependent she was on Costia’s. Initially, it was endearing, when Costia would make decision after decision on her behalf and tell Lexa, “Don’t worry about, I’ll take care of it. You just worry about work and winning those cases.” They were supportive words Lexa needed at the time and Lexa did win case after case. Her success was featured in magazines and recognized by the media. And Costia used Lexa’s success as a lawyer for stature; she took advantage of Lexa’s heartbreak to elevate herself.

This realization was embarrassing for Lexa and she didn’t tell anyone about the breakup. She wasn’t ready. Because it didn’t look good on social media, Costia undoubtedly left the “engagement” up on Facebook for months. Hell, it might still be up. Lexa doesn’t know, nor does she care.

/

“You’re not too late,” Lexa replies and looks up at Clarke, “but if you leave me again—”

“—I won’t.” Clarke cuts her off. “I want this,” she continues, “I want us. And I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Lexa finds herself looking up and staring into Clarke’s eyes. She can tell Clarke means what she’s saying with every fiber of her being. And it draws Lexa in like gravity, an invisible tether that binds them. It always has and Lexa’s unsure how she’s gone so long without her. Speechless, Lexa cups Clarke’s jaw and guides her down for a kiss. It’s slow, meaningful, and full of promise.

They part but Clarke stays close, tipping her forehead against Lexa’s and nuzzles her nose. It renders a small smile on Lexa’s lips, fond memories surface and Lexa remembers when Clarke would nuzzle her awake on weekend mornings. They would sleep in past noon and spend all day together in bed, snuggling, laughing, and having sex. Some days, they were so preoccupied up with each other, they’d miss class and soccer practice. They would peel themselves away from each other just to go to class. Other times, Clarke would go to class with Lexa just to sit with her and nap on her shoulder. This was passable in the auditorium styled lecture halls packed with hundreds of students, but as they advanced further into their respective majors, the class sizes dwindled. Still, they were inseparable. They walked each other to class and waited for one another outside. Once, Clarke pulled Lexa into a janitor’s closet. Another time they were walking to class and got caught in a rainstorm, they were soaked, and it was a better idea to go back to the dorm room, strip their wet clothes and have sex. The flashbacks are endless. But that was then when they lived together. Now, they’re thousands of miles apart.

“How do you want to do this, Clarke? Aren’t you in New York now?”

It’s a loaded question, one that Clarke seemingly was not prepared for.

“I am in New York.” Clarke swallows, “Are we… really doing this?”

Lexa smirks. “You are so _you,_ driving forward with sheer force hoping the momentum would carry you through. You didn’t think you’d get this far, did you?”

“I just knew I had to come to you.”

“And now you’re here.” Lexa’s eyes dip, thinking. Lexa was always the planner, taking time to organize while Clarke fueled the spontaneity, striking when the iron was hot. Except for Clarke, the iron was always hot. Hence, they complimented each other. “When do you leave?” Lexa asks.

“Midnight, tonight.”

Lexa nods, and shifts to pull Clarke closer between her legs. A midnight flight means Clarke will need to be at the airport by ten, and thus, leave by nine. They only have a few hours left together.

“Just in time for your Monday morning shift at the hospital, I presume?” Lexa says.

“Oh, I… never actually finished medical school…”

“What, really?”

Clarke shakes her head. “I just… I was so lost.”

“Then what do you do now?”

“I work at a gallery.”

“You paint?”

Clarke shakes her head, again. “I deal,” she says and runs a gentle hand through Lexa’s hair. “I buy and sell for the gallery, from visiting auctions to traveling abroad to meet potential buyers. Once, the piece was so valuable, the buyer insisted I travel with it for hand delivery. Some crazy rich guy in Italy.”

“Italy?”

Clarke nods. “Italy, France, China, sometimes India.”

“You’ve been to all those places?”

Clarke nods again.

“Jesus, I really need to get my passport.”

“You don’t have a passport?”

“No, I’ve hardly been out of the state,” Lexa admits, feelings significantly under traveled.

“Well, now you have a reason to at least go to New York,” Clarke says suggestively.

“Mm,” Lexa nods, “that I do.”

Clarke is now fully running her fingers through Lexa’s hair as massages her head. It’s a weakness for Lexa, it calms her and makes her sleepy. Clarke used to do it all the time when they were in school together, digging her fingertips into Lexa’s scalp until she fell asleep.

“Mmm… Clarke, you’re going to make me fall asleep,” Lexa murmurs and nuzzles her face into Clarke’s bosom. “I was up so early this morning… I could go to bed right now.”

“Then go to bed.”

“What, no, I’m going to take you to the airport.”

“Lexa, I’m more than capable of finding my way.”

“I know, but I’m _taking_ you to the airport,” Lexa insists.

“M’kay… what time were you up this morning anyway?”

“Six.”

“ _Six?_ We went to bed at like, four.”

“I know… I was there,” Lexa mutters and closes her eyes. She’s missed this; she’s missed Clarke. The rhythm of Clarke’s breathing and her heartbeat is soothing. She wants to spend another night with Clarke and holds Clarke tighter.

“Lexa, you’re falling asleep.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” Clarke kisses the top of Lexa’s head. “How about the couch then? I’ll wake you before I have to go.”

Lexa isn’t in a position to argue. Her initial plans were to go straight to bed after pizza for an extended night’s rest before Monday. “You promise you’ll wake me?”

“Yes.”

They shift to the couch and Lexa falls asleep immediately in Clarke’s arms. Her eyes slip shut and it feels like a mere minute has passed when Clarke is gently rousing her awake.

“Lexa?” Clarke whispers. A hand cups Lexa’s jaw. “Lexa?”

“Mm?”

“Lexa, I have to go now. Do you still want to take me to the airport?”

Lexa nods with her eyes closed.

“You can’t even open your eyes, Lex. How are you supposed to drive me?”

Blearily, Lexa forces open her eyes and she’s greeted by the sight of Clarke. She can’t help but smile. Despite the darkness of the evening, Clarke’s eyes shine bright blue. They always have.

“Hi,” Lexa says.

Clarke smiles, “Hi.” She leans in and presses a kiss at the corner of Lexa’s mouth. “Lexa, I think you should stay and sleep. Not only do you have to drive me to the airport, but yourself back.”

It’s true, Lexa is not looking forward to at least an hour alone back. She already made that trip this morning.

“You should sleep before work tomorrow—at least one of us should,” Clarke adds.

Finally, Lexa nods, and curls back into Clarke, making no effort to let her go. “When will I see you again?”

Lexa feels Clarke shift as she reaches for her phone and brings up a calendar.

“Next weekend?” Clarke suggests.

“Can’t,” Lexa replies, “I have a soccer game.”

“You’re still playing soccer?”

“Coaching.”

“Wow, really? Like a regional travel team?”

“Eight through ten-year old’s.”

Clarke’s eyes glint in curious speckle. “Kids? And you?”

Lexa nods, smiling. “Yeah, they’re pretty cute. None of them know what they’re doing, and it’s fine. I figured, at one point in my life, that was me, running around with tiny legs and kicking a ball.” Lexa leans up, propping her head up with her elbow. “How about the weekend after?”

Clarke nods, scrolling through her calendar and Lexa watches as she enters the event: LEXA VISIT. It’s followed by a heart emoji and they share warm glances. More smiles.

Closing the calendar, Clarke switches to her Lyft app to call for a ride to the airport. It’ll be here in five minutes and Lexa drops her head back down on Clarke’s chest and squeezes her just a little bit tighter.

Lexa must have fallen back asleep before Clarke’s ride arrives because when she wakes back up, it’s the middle of the night and she’s alone on her couch. Lexa half wonders if she dreamt it all, but there’s a throw blanket over her shoulders and on her coffee table, a note with Clarke’s number. She enters the new contact into her phone and finally, sends Clarke a text.

_Lexa: I’m glad you came_

_Clarke: me too_


	4. Chapter 4

Lexa is nervous. She’s sitting on the plane and tapping her pen on the crossword puzzle. Even though she and Clarke have been talking and texting for the past two weeks, butterflies fill her stomach. She thinks of Clarke’s smile, her golden hair, and glistening blue eyes; photos and Facetime don’t do her justice. Clarke has always had a natural beauty about her. Before, when they were together, Lexa’s favorite was watching Clarke wake up with sleepy eyes and messy hair. Lexa would shower her with morning kisses. A sad realization interrupts her happy thoughts, Lexa doesn’t know when she stopped waking Clarke up with kisses.

When they were living in the apartment together, Clarke was in med school and Lexa was in law school. Lexa took a secondary position interning at a major firm and despite living together, they hardly saw each other. Lexa became so focused on school and work, she didn’t realize Clarke was slipping away until one day, she was gone. Lexa will never forgive herself for letting that happen.

A text buzzes through while Lexa is in midair and she picks up her phone. It could be work, Lexa took a half-day and left at noon to make her flight, or it could be—

_Clarke: I can’t wait to see you_

Lexa smiles like a fool. Everything feels so new and it seems too easy to put everything behind them and try again, yet here they are. Here she is, halfway across the country, and just a couple of hours from Clarke.

_Lexa: I can’t wait to see you too_

/

Lexa’s love of flowers is one of her deepest kept secrets, except Clarke knows all of her secrets, and when Lexa exits the main terminal, Clarke greets her with a big bouquet.

Smiling, Lexa leans in for a hug and for a split second, it’s awkward. The flowers are in the way, and Lexa doesn’t know if she should kiss Clarke or not and she ends up landing an awkward half-kiss on Clarke’s cheek.

“Hi,” Lexa says, for lack of any other words.

“Hi.”

There’s a brief pause as they take each other in, eyeing one another up-and-down in both excitement and disbelief.

“Oh, um, these are for you,” Clarke blurts and pushes the bouquet forward into Lexa’s arms.

“Oh, thanks,” Lexa replies. “Sorry, I uh, I didn’t get you anything, I left straight from work.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it at all.” Clarke waves casually in the air. “You look, um, you look great.”

“Really?”

Lexa is wearing her work clothes, typically a suit, and she thinks nothing of it. Not to mention she just got off a five-hour flight and feels gross.

“Yeah,” Clarke nods. She runs her fingers along the lapel of Lexa’s blazer. “Really, handsome.”

There’s another standstill as Clarke shifts her hand to fiddle with Lexa’s shirt collar.

They’re interrupted when someone accidentally bumps into the back of Lexa. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Lexa replies and looks back at Clarke. “We should probably get out of the way.”

“Right,” Clarke replies, turning to exit the terminal. She looks at Lexa’s travel case, which doubles as a backpack. “Is that all you brought, did you check any luggage?”

Lexa shakes her head, “No, it’s just a couple of nights.”

“Right…” Clarke repeats, this time with a somber note in her tone.

It’s odd to have the duress of time looming over their heads. Two nights is nothing compared to what they used to have when the days were endless.

“I know—I’m sorry,” Lexa says, “I didn’t mean to phrase it like that.”

“No, I’m sorry, it’s fine, I shouldn’t have… I mean, it’s not like I didn’t know we only had the weekend… obviously, I just meant… uh—”

Clarke is rambling, and the only time she rambles is when she’s nervous. It’s one of Clarke’s worst fears, to uncontrollably ramble only to reveal how nervous she is, which causes more of the same in an escalating feedback loop. Good thing Lexa knows her just as well as she knows Lexa.

“Hey,” Lexa takes hold of Clarke’s hand she gives it a light squeeze and it grounds Clarke to her. “It’s just me. You’re just you. And it’s just us.”

Clarke smiles, looking down before squeezing Lexa’s hand in return. She takes in a deep breath and exhales.

They leave the airport holding hands and Clarke calls a cab like a New York native, sounding a whistle that echoes down the street.

“Where to ladies?” The cab driver asks.

“Chinatown,” Clarke replies and looks at Lexa. “Unless you’ve already eaten?”

Lexa shakes her head, “No, I haven’t.”

“Great, I’m starving and there’s this place I’ve wanted to take you. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Oh yeah, better than Peking—”

“Don’t, say it.”

“Why?”

“Well… Peking Ducking was by the university, and we were limited on options, and it wasn’t all that gre—”

“Don’t.”

“—All that great.”

Lexa exaggerates a gasp. “How could you? Aside from pizza, Peking Duck was our other staple. The other carb. We practically alternated between pizza and their takeout. The fried rice, the chow mein, and honey walnut shrimp?!”

“I know, I know, Lexa. But you haven’t had it from _this_ place, in Chinatown, in New York. Trust me, I’ve practically toured every restaurant. It’s family-owned, by a family from Hong Kong!” Clarke leans in as if giving away the restaurant’s secret ingredient. “Sometimes, I see their grandmother in the back cooking.”

“Really?”

Clarke nods. “I eat there once a week,” she admits, and adds, “they have the best BBQ pork buns.”

Lexa gasps, again, and it’s not exaggerated this time, but a genuine, soft intake of air. “I love BBQ pork buns.”

“I know,” Clarke smirks. “That’s why I wanted to take you first thing.”

/

“Klar-kay!” That’s what the server calls her. In fact, the entire wait staff knows her by name and order.

“Same order? Steam BBQ pork buns and beef chow-fun? Or you want the honey walnut shrimp with the special fried rice this time.”

“Hi Shirley, both orders this time,” Clarke replies.

“Mmhmm,” Shirley nods and scribbles on a notepad. “Enough for two people order?”

“Yes. Oh, and can you add those sesame ball things?”

Shirley nods and when she’s done writing, looks up. “And who dis?”

“This is Lexa,” Clarke replies.

Shirley gives Lexa a long, dubious stare. “Mmhmm. Your clothes fancy,” she comments quickly.

“I just came from work,” Lexa replies.

“What you do?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

Shirley narrows her eyes and Lexa suddenly feels hot as if she’s about to be grilled, or tossed in a flaming wok.

“And what you want with Klar-kay?”

“Uh…”

Thankfully, Clarke interrupts. “Oh, no, Shirley, she’s my friend. Well… more, than… never mind. It’s not work-related, she’s visiting from out of town.”

Still, Shirley’s eyes never leave Lexa. “Where from?”

“I’m visiting from LA,” Lexa replies.

“Ahhh… Los Angeles. I have friend there, too. They say nice weather. Warm.”

“Yes, it is very warm in LA. You should visit.”

There’s another pause and Lexa has never felt so entirely judge in her life as if Shirley was Clarke’s own mother. Finally, Shirley replies, “Maybe I go one day,” and turns to put in the order. Lexa still isn’t sure if she passed whatever test that was.

“Sorry about that,” Clarke sips her water.

Lexa brushes it off, “It’s fine, she seems… protective of you. And you say you’re here weekly?”

Clarke’s eyes drift to the side. A server further blocks their line of sight, pouring each of them a small cup of tea from a traditional teapot. As soon as the server leaves, Lexa dips to regain eye contact.

“More than once a week?” She asks.

“There are three meals in a day, seven days a week,” Clarke replies. The statement serves as her admittance of guilt and her cheeks flush pink.

Clarke can be very adorable during select times, and she’s doing it right now. She glows in the dim lighting, and her blush is amplified by the red décor. Lexa reaches across the table and runs circles with her thumb over the back of Clarke’s hand. Despite the restaurant being moderately busy with chatter in the background, the moment is intimate.

“I’ve missed you,” Lexa says.

Clarke smiles, “I’ve missed you too.”

Small talk ensues as they wait for their food: how Lexa’s flight was (boring); how her soccer game went (they lost); and work (more boring than the flight). Lexa learns more about Clarke’s position at the gallery and it’s much more prominent than she initially leads on.

“Wait, what? How much are these paintings?”

“They average in the million… couple million.”

“And your commission is 3.5 percent?”

“Yes…”

“Clarke, that’s—" It doesn’t take much to do that math, “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry into your finances.”

“You’re not prying, I don’t mind,” Clarke replies with a shrug. “I know I didn’t finish medical school, but at least I’m not a total failure.”

“You’re not a failure at all, Clarke. Who would think that?”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “My mom.”

“Oh, right…”

Not only is Abby a medical doctor but has worked her way up to be a state regional director who oversees hospital training programs, especially for residents. That Clarke didn’t finish medical school must weigh heavy on her.

“If I do go back to school, now, I’ll be at least six years removed from everyone else. And, by the time I finish, complete my residency, and get hired, I’ll be thousands of dollars in school debt, and spend years working shit shifts before I even start making enough money to pay back the loans. Not to mention the arm and leg I’d have to pay for malpractice insurance? Our country’s medical infrastructure is so fucked. And I hate my mom for being part of the system.”

Lexa sips her cup of tea. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“Sorry, I just—” Clarke takes a drink as well, “I didn’t realize I had that pent up inside of me. I haven’t really spoken to my mom, or anyone since… since I left.”

Somehow, the conversation has turned sour and they both look down. Lexa tries to fabricate a response, but she’s saved by incoming plates of food. It smells delicious, steaming hot, and Lexa didn’t realize how hungry she was. Her cheeks salivate and stomach grumbles. And judging from the familiar look on Clarke’s face, she feels the same way. They dive into the food without another word.

Lexa reaches for a BBQ pork bun and takes a bite. It’s _perfect._ The bun is soft and warm, and the pork, both sweet and savory. It tastes so good, it makes Peking Duck seem like a frozen microwave dinner.

“Oh my god,” Lexa covers her mouth. “ _Clarke._ ”

“I know, Lex, I _know._ ”

“You know what this means.”

Clarke’s eyes glance up to meet hers.

“We can never go back,” Lexa says.

“We didn’t know, Lexa,” Clarke says, and her tone dips. “We were so young.”

The words stretch far beyond the food they’re eating. And they know it.

“We were…” Lexa replies softly.

They eat the rest of dinner in silence. Plus, they were both very hungry. The plates are cleared with nothing left over. This makes Shirley very happy.

“Ah, you two finish everything. Sure you don’t want extra to take home?”

“Oh, no thank you, Shirley,” Clarke replies, running a hand over her full stomach. “I’ll probably be back in a few days anyway.”

Shirley nods while tearing their check from the booklet. “Pay whenever you ready.”

Clarke and Lexa both reach for their wallets, racing to pay for one another.

“I got it,” Lexa says, and triumphantly lays her credit card down first. “Ha.”

Smiling, Clarke picks up Lexa’s card, gives it back, and leaves with the slip. “It’s pay at the register and they prefer cash,” she says and tips her head to the front where there is a sign posted stating those two exact things.

Lexa sighs in defeat. Her eyes linger on Clarke as she walks away, strutting with a certain pride before Lexa gathers her things to leave.

“So, we can always catch a cab back or I didn’t know if you wanted to walk?” Clarke says. “I thought maybe you’d want to stretch your legs a bit after the plane ride. I live less than a mile from here.”

“A walk would be nice,” Lexa replies, smiling.

Clarke was always good at being thoughtful. Not only is she thoughtful, but it’s specific to Lexa’s needs. Perhaps it’s the years they spent growing up and learning how to be adults together. Certain attributes become ingrained, automatic, just like their tendency to reach for each other’s hands the moment they step out the door.

New York stays true to its unofficial nickname, The City that Never Sleeps. It’s gotten busier since Lexa landed, and for a Friday night, seems to only be starting: cars and cabs honk; the metro chatters along its rails; busses hiss and squeal; and every so often, a distant siren.

“It’s busy here,” Lexa says.

“I was thinking about that—while you’re here, is there something specific you want to see?”

“Just you naked.” Lexa ticks an eyebrow.

Is it weird to be actively hitting on your ex, who you’re currently dating? Lexa doesn’t know the answer to that, but it certainly feels good. Her eyes drift down to watch Clarke bite her lower lip and her blue eyes sparkle with city lights. Every urban sound is muted by the way Clarke looks, and she’s too perfect to resist. Lexa hasn’t given Clarke a proper kiss since she arrived, and Lexa leans forward to do so. She cups the underside of Clarke’s jaw and brings her lips to hers.

“Mmm…” Clarke hums and sinks into the kiss, placing a hand at Lexa’s elbow to tug her closer. There’s a nose bump and a second kiss with a light flicker of tongue. “I umm… I think that can be easily arranged,” Clarke says and swipes the pad of her thumb across Lexa’s lower lip. “But, honestly, was there something you wanted to see or do?”

Lexa shrugs. “There really wasn’t, Clarke. I’m here for you. So, whatever you want to do is fine with me.”

“I was thinking tomorrow we can maybe play tourist and go see the Statue of Liberty?”

“Really, you want to go do that? Don’t you see it every day?”

“Technically, yes, I see it, but I’ve never been _to_ it.”

“Nearly six years here and you haven’t been?”

Clarke shakes her head. “I’ve never had a reason… Plus, I heard the Ellis Island Museum of Immigration is really good, too. We could make a day of it?”

Lexa nods, “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

They’ve since started a comfortable pace toward Clarke’s apartment, their footsteps fall into cadence and their hands gently sway in time. Lexa takes in the city before her, how different it is from LA. The buildings are taller, streets are narrower, and busier with more cars and pedestrians. Alleyway nooks, subway tunnels, and railway overpasses. She thinks about how this has been Clarke’s home for the past six years, how often Clarke has made this walk, and where she stops. The corner newsstand, coffee shop, or bakery?

It’s a pleasant stroll and in less than fifteen minutes, they’ve reached the doorstep of a tall, luxury apartment. The building comes with the amenities akin to a five-star hotel from a rooftop terrace to an indoor lap pool plus a hot tub and sauna. Clarke lives in a studio, which is by no means large, but it’s _nice._ The open floor plan gives it a spacious atmosphere. The living room flows into the bedroom area, elevated by a single stair step. Further, it’s a corner unit with windows that overlook the Hudson River, spilling into the Upper Bay dotted with vessel traffic from small tugboats to big ferries. In the distance, you can see both Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty.

“Wow…” Lexa exhales while shrugging off her blazer. “This is a really nice place, Clarke. I feel like I’m on vacation.”

“You are on vacation.”

Clarke steps close, curls her hand around the base of Lexa’s neck, and pulls Lexa in for a kiss. The kiss is slow, tentative even, as if what they have between them is fragile and requires careful mending. It’s drastically different from two weeks ago when they made out frantically at Raven and Anya’s wedding and fucked in careless desperation. No, this is different. It’s delicate, and one wrong move would shatter it all. There’s still a mark of disbelief that Lexa is here, in the heart of New York, and standing in Clarke’s apartment _with_ Clarke. This second chance means more to her than she can put into words. Lexa doesn’t know if she can withstand losing Clarke twice, and it scares her. A rare moment of panic emerges within, and she pulls away, only slightly, but it’s enough for Clarke to know.

“What’s wrong, Lexa?”

“Nothing, nothing…” Lexa tries to dismiss but remains silent without explanation.

Thankfully, Clarke doesn’t need an explanation and nods. “I get it,” she whispers and runs her hands down Lexa’s dress shirt. She fiddles with the topmost button but doesn’t undo it, leaving it be. “Why don’t you go shower—I know how getting off a long flight feels,” Clarke offers. “There are fresh towels in the cupboard and use whatever soap or shampoo you want.”

Lexa nods. She takes hold of Clarke’s hand and kisses the back of it. There’s so much to be said, yet nothing to say at all.

/

When Lexa emerges from the shower, Clarke has since lit a couple of candles (presumably for her) and finds Clarke curls on the couch with a book. It reminds Lexa of their college days when Clarke’s presence was a constant. And despite being in a strange, new city, there’s a sense of hominess. The burning candles help; Clarke knows Lexa has a weakness for candles. They smell warm and cozy, like fresh laundry from the dryer. Naturally, Lexa makes her way to the couch beside Clarke, sitting and placing her head on Clarke’s shoulder.

“How was your shower?” Clarke asks and kisses Lexa’s forehead.

“Nice—you have a really, really nice bathroom. Two showerheads?”

Clarke exhales a small laugh. “One is for a rain shower. Or, if two people wanted to shower at the same time…”

“Mmm…” Lexa hums at the thought of her—their—next shower. “You have such nice, grown-up things, Clarke.”

Clarke exaggerates a half-scoff and lays down her book. “You _own_ a house.”

“Touché,” Lexa smirks. “God, remember that showerhead in our first apartment?”

“What showerhead?” Clarke replies, “You mean the bare pipe sticking out of the broken tile and was either too hot or too cold, but never in the middle. It was like taking a shower under a garden hose.”

“It really was. Remember that one time you put Dawn dish soap in the dishwasher, and it exploded with bubbles.”

“Shut up! I didn’t _know_ there were two kinds of dish soap—one for hand washing and one for dishwashers.”

Lexa laughs, “I know, I know.”

“At least I didn’t electrocute myself changing a lightbulb.”

“Hey! That was both the first and last time I have ever done that.”

It’s Clarke’s turn to laugh and they continue to go back and forth. There were so many “firsts” as they experienced early adulthood together and traveled down memory lane.

“Remember when you turned 21 and we both got so wasted we thought we locked ourselves out of the apartment—”

“—and we broke into the neighbors’ downstairs and still couldn’t figure out why all the furniture was different.”

“And nice.”

They laugh aloud and when the laughter dies, Clarke smiles and cups Lexa’s face. “I’ve missed your laugh.”

The moment shifts from light memories to deep regret. It’s written across Clarke’s face, laid bare for Lexa to see, and Clarke doesn’t try to hide it. Her lower lip trembles and her eyes well.

“Clarke?”

“I’m sorry, Lexa,” she says. It’s not just the shame and remorse, but the hurt. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice cracks and tears fall.

“Hey…”

Automatically, Lexa pulls Clarke in for a hug and Clarke falls apart. She grips Lexa as if never to let go and cries into her shoulder.

“I missed you, Lexa,” Clarke mutters. “I missed you so much. I wanted to come back… so badly, but then Costia had all those pictures up of you two and your perfect lives. Then came the engagement announcement, I was sure I’d lost you forever.”

“Oh, Clarke…” Lexa cradles Clarke’s face and brings her blue eyes up to meet hers. “Never mind all of that, I’m here, now. Okay?” She kisses the tears from the corner of each eye before placing one on Clarke’s quivering lips. Then another, and another, kissing away the past. The present becomes very apparent when Clarke shifts onto Lexa’s lap and straddles her thighs. It’s been so long since Lexa has held Clarke like this—had her like this—with the promise of future.

Reaching, Lexa pulls Clarke’s shirt overhead. Clarke undoes her own bra, letting her breasts spill into Lexa’s hands. Muscle memory has Lexa thumbing gently over Clarke’s nipples before bringing one to her mouth.

“Lexa…” Clarke’s head tips backward; she looks gorgeous.

Lexa takes her time, alternating between nipples before bringing Clarke’s mouth back to hers. The kisses are long and thorough, slowly mending the six-year rift between them. They spend an undetermined amount of time on the couch before shifting to the bed, leaving a trail of clothes, and stumbling into the sheets. They reach for each other. When Lexa’s hand disappears between them, so does Clarke’s. Limbs entangle. Lexa sinks her fingers into Clarke; Clarke sinks her fingers in Lexa. They match each other beat-for-beat as if no time has passed at all. Their love runs deep, a special connection that Lexa has never had with anyone else. They fuck with eyes open as if staring into each other’s souls. And it’s only when Clarke’s eyelids begin to slip that Lexa knows she’s close.

“Lexa… I’m close.”

“I know… wait for me.”

Clarke bites her lip, nodding, while Lexa rocks harder into Clarke’s fingers, forcing her deeper.

“Come on, baby…” Clarke coaxes. “Come for me.”

They come together.

“Clarke!”

“Lexa!”

Hold on to each other for dear life as their bodies crumble and fall. They continue into the night, round after round, until they’re exhausted. Breathless still, Lexa brings Clarke’s mouth to hers and kisses her, savoring every moment until she can no longer keep her eyes open and drifts asleep.

/

Something very, very warm rouses her awake. It’s a familiar warmth and it teases her between her legs. Kissing, nibbling, and sucking. Lexa reaches down and her fingers twist into a mess of hair. Lexa smiles.

“Mmm… Clarke.”

Clarke’s cheeks nudge at her inner thighs, encouraging her legs further apart until they fall completely open for Clarke. Lips and tongue meet her clit. It’s slow at first, gentle and relaxing passes. Clarke knows how she likes it and works Lexa at a gradual pace. Soon, Lexa needs more, and she grinds into Clarke’s tongue, fisting both hands into her hair and guiding her down harder. Clarke easily obliges and sucks Lexa fully into her mouth, flicking her tongue hard against Lexa’s clit.

“Fuck, Clarke!”

Lexa comes, and Clarke further prolongs her orgasm by pressing and holding her tongue against Lexa to the very end.

It’s hot, and Lexa is sweaty and sticky. She tosses the sheets off them in a single motion and opens her eyes to Clarke crawling up her body. 

“Good morning, Lexa.” Clarke has a devilish grin on her face.

“Mm…” Lexa rubs her eyes, “Morning.”

Sunlight spills into the entire studio, and Clarke looks like an angel. Her hair looks like gold, her skin glows, and her eyes are bluer than the sky. Lexa runs a hand through Clarke’s hair, giving it a few brushes before leaning in for a morning kiss. Upon parting, Clarke threads their hands together and pulls Lexa out of bed. Lexa knows exactly where they’re going: the shower.

Under the hot water, Lexa kisses Clarke’s and rakes her teeth across her collarbone, leaving love bites and marks wherever she wants. Clarke has since wrapped a leg around Lexa’s torso and grinds insistently. Finally, Lexa spins her around and positions Clarke against the glass—she knows Clarke loves it from behind.

“Oh, fuck yeah, Lex…”

Clarke arches her back and pushes her ass out against Lexa’s pelvis for a few superficial grinds. Lexa reaches around front, giving Clarke a few teasing swipes before spreading her wide and thrusts knuckle deep inside.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, Clarke.”

“For you, always.”

Clarke cranes her head and hooks her arm around the back of Lexa’s head, guiding her down for a kiss. Lexa pumps in-and-out of her and swallows every one of Clarke’s moans, fucking and fucking.

“Oh, harder, Lexa, harder!”

Lexa ends up pinning Clarke against the glass for more leverage, moving faster and deeper with each stroke until Clarke comes shuddering in her arms. Her skin rises, and knees tremble, and Lexa must hold her up. Finally, she feels Clarke’s body relax in her arms, but she doesn’t let go. Clarke turns around for more kisses, wraps her arms around Lexa’s shoulders, and they make out with the water flowing around them. Kissing until they’re hot and dizzy and hungry.

/

“Here.”

Clarke folds the slice of New York pizza in half and feeds it to Lexa like a taco, who takes an awkward bite as cheese and sauce drips down her chin (Clarke wipes it for her). They’re sharing a giant slice of pizza while waiting to catch the ferry.

“Mm, god, why is that _so_ good?” Lexa comments.

“I don’t know.” Clarke takes a bite for herself, “The food here is amazing. We have to go to Little Italy sometime, there’s this one place called Fat Lorenzo’s and the pasta there is to die for.”

“What about tonight?”

“Oh, I made reservations at a French place for tonight.”

“Really? French? Sounds fancy.”

“It is, but isn’t. It’s this little hole in the wall, very casual setting, but the food is way up there.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to see Little Italy next time then, huh?”

They both smile at the prospect of Lexa’s next visit. Around them, busses offload tourists and lines form at the ferry terminal. Upon boarding, Clarke and Lexa snag a spot on the bow. Instinctively, Lexa wraps her arms around Clarke and nuzzles her neck. Forget the sights of Manhattan from the water, Lexa is enamored with Clarke and feels like a teenager in love with zero restraint. Despite being surrounded by strangers in a public setting, Lexa lets her lips roam, dropping little kisses along Clarke’s neck.

“Lexa…” Clarke shies away only to turn and face Lexa and pulls her in for a kiss. Soon, they’re in a world of their own, making out as the ferry gets underway and the wind whips across the bow.

The rest of the day is much of the same. While it’s nice to see the Statue of Liberty in person and learn about US immigration via Ellis Island in the 19th century, Lexa can’t take her eyes off Clarke. From her smile to her laugh, and Lexa honestly doesn’t know how she spent six years in her absence. The day flies by, and one bottle of wine at the French restaurant, _La Ripaille_ , turns into two. They wobble home giggling and while Lexa wouldn’t consider herself outright drunk, there’s a strong buzz ringing through her body.

They only slightly stumble into Clarke’s apartment and migrate to the couch. The kisses aren’t yet sloppy—they’ve both been much further gone in each other’s company, but this, this is pure fun.

“I had such a great time today, Clarke.”

“Me too. Although I think I spent more time looking at you than at the sights.”

Lexa smiles, “I’m positive I spent more time looking at you. In fact, I have no idea what New York looks like. It’s just a big concrete blur.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Clarke sits up with a sudden spurt of energy. “C’mon, Lexa.”

“Where are we going? We just got home.”

“Not far.” Clarke grabs the couch throw and (another) bottle of wine from her counter.

“Wait, just let me get my shoes on, have you seen my other shoe?”

“You don’t need them, c’mon.”

“What?”

Clarke takes them to the elevator and pushes the button to the top floor, but that’s not their final destination. From there, Clarke pushes through a door labeled EMERGENCY ONLY – ALARM WILL SOUND. The alarm never sounds and they emerge onto the rooftop. It affords a breathtaking 360 view of the city. And with the bustle of the city hundreds of feet below them, it’s also incredibly peaceful.

“Oh, whoa…” Lexa exhales.

“Still a concrete blur?”

Lexa smirks and looks Clarke in the eyes. “Completely.”

Smiling, Clarke sets the blanket on the floor in a picnic-like setting. She sits, inviting Lexa down with her. Lexa chooses to sit behind Clarke and scoots forward so she can wrap her arms around her with chest flush against Clarke’s back.

“This is my favorite view of the city,” Clarke says and nuzzles her nose just under Lexa’s jaw.

“Mm, I can see why.”

“So, that’s where we were today,” Clarke says and points toward the Upper Bay. She then pans left. “And there’s Governors Island, Brooklyn, the Brooklyn Bridge, Manhattan Bridge, Williamsburg Bridge, the rest of East River, the Empire State Building, and just to the left of it is Times Square. On New Year’s, I can usually see the ball and watch it drop from here.”

“Oh, really? You mean you don’t go down to Times Square itself?”

Clarke shakes her head. “And be packed like a sardine in a barricade with the drunken masses and nowhere to pee. No thanks. In my first few years here, I bought tickets to a New Year’s party, but after the ball drops, leaving and making my way home was always a pain. The streets were crammed. The past three years I’ve just come up here.”

Clarke shifts, fidgeting in her arms, and Lexa can feel Clarke’s nerves. New Year’s has always been special to them, marking the first time they were together.

“What is it, Clarke?”

“Well… I know New Year’s is almost eight months away…” Clarke inhales a shaky breath, “But, I was thinking it’d be nice if maybe… maybe you’d like to come here?” Her voice has dropped to a mere whisper. “And spend it with me?”

Eight months is a decent amount of time away, and Lexa doesn’t want to make any false promises. But where her head stops to think, her heart lurches forward. Clearly, the heart wants what it wants, and Lexa finds it difficult to say no to the thumping in her chest.

“You don’t have to answer me, now,” Clarke blurts. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid question. Never mind. I don’t know what I was thinking, or I wasn’t thinking, rather—”

“Clarke.”

“Hm?”

“I think New Year’s here with you would be really nice.”

“Oh…. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lexa nods and dips in for a kiss.

Clarke opens the wine, and they drink directly out of the bottle, taking shameless swigs as if it were water. They remain on the rooftop for several hours, staring at the city, kissing and holding each other into the night. When the wine is gone, their thirst for each other has grown and they retire downstairs for another passionate night.

/

The weekend is over far too soon. It’s early Sunday afternoon when Lexa must leave for the airport.

“I had a really amazing weekend, Lexa.”

“Me too.”

Their parting hug is long and neither want to let go.

“So, um, when can I see you again?”

“Next… weekend?” Lexa glances to the side, embarrassed at how soon she wants Clarke back in her arms.

The suggestion catches Clarke by surprise, and her eyes widen. “Oh, that’s soon.”

“Too soon?” Lexa quickly replies.

“Oh, no, no. I mean, I’d love to, but I have an auction in Hong Kong I have to stop at.”

“You make that sound so casual as if dropping something off at the post office, you’re going to Hong Kong? For how long?”

“It’s just for the day, all day Sunday. There and back. I have a gala on Tuesday night I have to be back for. Maybe the weekend after? I’ll come to you?”

Lexa nods, smiling. “Okay, see you in a couple of weeks then.”

“Okay.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr @thessclexa


End file.
